Reunion Through Centuries
by StrangeLittleSwirl
Summary: Olivia and Sherlock...hmm...and what about Krys and Erik? Vedy interesting...
1. To England

**__**

Yup, I actually edited the chapters, so people won't get headaches as much as they did before. Thanks to my new 'baby', which has a different system on it than my last one, I'm able to save in HTML mode!!!!

I don't own Mentos, the most wonderful candy in the world (maybe not, but I like 'em.  
  
I don't Holmes or Watson, either (sigh) I _am_ workin' on that one. though!  
  
  
  
  
  
I tapped my foot impatiently. What could take Krysten so long? I only let her into the shop to pick some candy for her addiction. Even I was faster with my mocha. Mocha was the only substance I was ever addicted to I was standing in the middle of an airport in London, waiting for my best bud to finish with her fetish. I sighed and  
walked back into the shop, grabbing her by the collar and hailing a taxi.  


"Liv?" She whined. I threw her some candy from my purse. "Oh, come on, can't we get some-ooh! Mentos!"  


I smacked her on the back of the head, and the rest of the ride was silent. By the time we reached the law firm, I had started to tap my fingers on my knee.  


As I paid the cab driver, I suddenly felt nervous. What would Watson leave? Would the Will say anything about me? My palms were so sweaty that I had to wipe them on my jeans.  


With Krys is tow, I entered the museum. It was nearly six-closing time. Going to the information desk, I explained why I was there.  


"Oh my god!" The young man cried. "You're Miss Watson? Oh, this is absolutely bad!"  


"Um, why is this bad?" Krys stepped over from a display case.  


"Oh, you're American, aren't you?" The boy looked at me with a look that said 'I feel so sorry for you'. " It means 'wonderful'. How do you know Miss Watson?"  


"We're roommates." I listened to my voice. For some reason, it sounded . . .. . British. I guess the boy thought that I was a local. I tried to correct my voice. "We're both from America, but we only expect to stay long enough to find out what all this was about."  


"You got me there! I could have sworn you were English!" The boy started laughing, then waved goodbye to some people leaving. The lawyer is in the back room, and so is his secretary. Go right back," we started to walk off, but  
the boy called us back. "Could I, um, get your autograph?"  


I smiled, and quickly jotted my signature on an extra map of the museum before walking to the back.  


A professional-looking man who introduced himself as Mr. Young greeted me, and a voice from behind nearly made my blood run cold.

"So, the Watson's are back in England." It was the female version of Professor  
Moriarty. She held out her hand. "I'm Miss Perrins; Mr. Young's secretary." She gave me a sickly sweet smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."  


I slowly shook her hand. "Likewise."  


I turned to Young, asking him what there was. Young, in return, asked Perrins to leave the room. She slinked to the door.  


"Miss Watson, this trunk was one of the many things left in the Will," his eyes shifted to Marianson, and I laughed.  


"She's fine. If any private information gets out, it's death by slow and painful torture for her."  


"All right, this is yours." He gestured to a heavy looking trunk on the desk.   


Carefully, I opened the trunk, gasping at what I saw.

  
Inside were manuscripts. Dozens and dozens of manuscripts, in a doctor's handwriting, were packed in neat piles. I sat in a chair and thumbed through them, but paused when I started to survey the trunk.

  
The lid was curved, but the inside was rectangular, meaning there was space in-between. Watson was capable of learning from Holmes, and did. Was there documents hidden in here?

  
" 'Things aren't always what they seem'." I quoted dream-Holmes. I started to slide my finger across the top . . . . .. and found an indent. Digging my finger into it (and receiving almost a century of grime deposited under my fingernail) it opened, and Young and Krys both let out sharp noises. I could feel my pulse quickening as I started to read the papers.  


__

Although no one will ever believe the authenticity of these accounts, the paper went on,_ Irene Norton nee Adler was _not_ '_the_ woman'. Olivia Watson, my great great great granddaughter, is owed this title. Somehow, some way that we never figured out, she came to us. _

  
Olivia was a beauty. She had eyes of amber that shone and a creamy complexion. Wherever she went, so did her boundless energy and her shimmery voice. Alas, my description would never fully describe her.   


Sherlock Holmes and I were the first to ever meet her, and throughout our knowing of this lady, she stayed a constant source of admiration and vexation all at once. In her time, women were able to have careers, and were given education of a man. Her intelligence was amazing, and it helped us more than once.  


To my dismay, Olivia (we masqueraded as brother and sister) is no more. At a dinner party, she and Holmes went off, and when we found them, Holmes was dead from a gunshot causing too much loss of blood. Olivia, gone, vanished without a trace.  


Holmes shall probably be remembered as a man of no heart, but is the exact opposite that is true. I do believe it is safe to say that he loved her, and the reverse. I do hope that they are both together, somewhere.  


Holmes had a younger brother, a direct look alike of Sherlock and a brain to almost match, has taken his place on Baker Street. He_ fits the description of my deceased friend much better.  
_

In the following pages are the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Olivia  
Watson. 

  
I put down the packet, tears pricking at the lids of my eyes. It had been real. And, because of me, Holmes was dead. I held in my sudden wish to scream and start crying, and turned to the other two.  


"Is there anything else, or are we allowed to go to the hotel?"   


Young started to read the paper, and his mouth formed a large 'o'.  


"There _is_ one more thing."  


"Which is what?"  


"More like 'Which is whom'. Ms. Watson," he took off his reading glasses, "you now have possession of the cryogenically frozen body of Sherlock Holmes."  


Outside in the hallway, someone let out a gasp and dropped papers, followed by high heels hobbling to pick them up, and a knock on the door. Ms. Perrins's head poked through the door. "Mr. Young? I need to go do an errand I just remembered. Is that all right?"  


"I suppose. Go."  


I turned towards Krys, who wasn't speaking, but gasping for breath. Young continued. "You have the right to decide to revive him or not. It's still experimental, but you have the choice."  


I stared down for a minute, knowing that my heart had already made the decision for me. "I would like to, ASAP, please."  


He nodded, and then showed us to his car. We were on our way.  
  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Thank u to all the wonderful people that helped to leave reviews. I'm trying my  
very best to 'keep it real', and I did research on cryogenics, so I do know that no one was  
really revived yet.   
  
And to still further prove my magically delicious powers, I will also explain things further  
in the next chap. As my bestest best friend in the whole wide world said it (also the model  
for K. M.) "You're [me] vague to an art." Ooh yes, dear, but u still haven't seen all my  
vagueness! Till the next time Luvs.  
For people who want to add a dreary note to Christmas this year, I suggest reading  
"Murder For Christmas". It has tons of stories in it, including Sir Arthur Canon Doyle!   
Luvs, luv, luv it, dallings! Bye!  
  
Olivia says she's not going to go through all the pressure of another fic unless she  
gets wonderful reviews, come on peeps, she got held at gun point, nearly blown up, and  
had to deal with a very chauvinistic Holmes (he changed a bit, didn't he?). *Do* give her  
some credit!


	2. 

I had to sit on my hands as the car rode through the traffic, anxiousness getting the best of me. Krys took one look at me and patted my arm. "You'll be fine." Her eyes narrowed. "Although I can't wait to get my hands on that disgusting . . . . . male!" She finally spat. I turned to her, oblivious to Young. "Why would you call him that? What did he ever do to you?" "Nothing! But he was so rude! I read about his stuff, he thought woman were stupid!" "That's not true!" I raised my voice. "Do you have proof?" "Yes, I do. I-" They both would think I was insane if I said anything about meeting him. "I read it in the journals, that view of the opposite sex was Doyle's! And you probably got that from some magazine. Did you even *read* the stories?" She squirmed, "Uh, no, but-" "So you're going to be as polite as can be, if this works." I hit her on the head, knocking on wood. "Very funny, Liv, don't make me use the full name!" She warned. "Fine, I'm sorry." Young started to laugh, and I tried to put on some music. "Oh, I burned a CD of some American music, you can put it on." He offered, hitting the play button. "*The Space Between*", I hit the forward button. I didn't feel like hearing that type of song. "*After All These Years*" Next. "*If You're Gone*" I growled and hit the off button, causing Young to glance in my direction. "Little antsy, are we?" I nodded, then stared at the road. That was funny, I could swear I saw Ms. Perrins gunning it to make the light from the other way. "Hell, were's she headed?" Krys asked from the back seat, leaning forward. I looked down the road. The Institute was just up ahead. If she was related to Moriarty, and didn't want the news out in public of the relation and crimes . . . I looked at the light, it was yellow. "Floor it, Young!" I yelled. "No time for q's!" He did just that, and we cut Perrins off, a close shave and nearly scraped half of the hunter green paint of the side of the car.  
Krysten let out a hoot, and I glared at her. We parked quickly and raced inside to the front desk. "We need to talk to Doctor Jones!"  
"What about?" The receptionist asked slowly. God, of all times to act slow, lady. . .   
"Sherlock Holmes, Ms. Matting, this is Ms. Oliva Watson." Mr. Young spoke up quickly. This is very important and should be taken care of imediatly."  
A tall, balding man walked in and took us to a back room. Sitting nervously in a uncomfortable chair, I tapped my fingers inpatiently.  
"Ms. Watson, how can I help you? I'm Doctor Jones."  
"Doctor, I want to revive him."  
He sat back in his chair. "you realize there *is* a high risk involved?"  
I nodded gravely. "Have you had any break throughs? Any specific cases of revification?"  
"Yes. A dog, and a cat, although we had one man who . . .due to some slight mis-measurings, he didn't have the nerves properly revived and-"  
"And, of course, there was no meseges to the brain, killing him. It makes sense.   
"Now all that is left is your decision, Ms. Watson. Shall we revive him or not?"  
I swallowed and looked him straight in the eyes. "Yes."  
"Very well, it will take about two days, we'll contact you."  
I slumped into my seat for some reason, I felt drained. As we started to leave, Ms. Perrins came storming through the doors of the center.  
"What have you done?!?" She screached.  
Krys just raised her hands and looked directly at her. "We've done nothing, except for find out that the body of Sherlock Holmes has been too damaged to revive." I had to congradulate the girl, she lied without blinking or scratching her earlobe.  
"Is there anything the matter, Ms. Perrins?" Young asked her.  
"Oh, yes, a Miss Malowski said that she had to cancel her date with you because of unexpected errands." She said sweetly.  
He shrugged, and Krysten's interests sparked. "Oh, Mr. Young, did you know that I wanted to be a lawyer if not a Investigator?"  
He took the bait, hook, line, and sinker, smiling at her. "Really? Why don't we talk over dinner? If, Ms. Watson doesn't mind."  
She looked at me with begging eyes. I sighed. "Yeah, just drop me at the hotel."  
We headed back, the two going off without me. To tell the truth, I didn't worry much about it, and the time alone was apreciated.  
The wind on the balcony, which was shared by the adjascent room, was a way to cover my tears. I was ashamed of myself. It was because of *me* that he had died. It was because of *me* that he was shot. As Krys always said, guilt is the gift that keeps on giving.  
I woke up at eleven, when my dear ol' buddy came in, with shrieking peels of laughter. I smacked her on the head and I ordered a mocha from room service. It's rather funny to say that somehow it helped to get me to sleep.  
The next two days were spent like any tourists, visiting everything and anything, save for the Sherlock Holmes Mueseum, I was saving that for a later on.  
It was on the second day, during lunch at a caffe, when Krys proppped her head on her chin and pouted. "It's so rainy, I can't stand this, what gives, anyway?"  
"It's a Marine West-Coast Climate, Krys, of course its-" I was interuppted by the ringing of my cell phone. "Watson here; speak."  
"Ms. Watson, we have someone here who's going to be waking up soon." Doctor Jones familiat voice came through.  
"It was a succes?"  
"Yes, and that you should get here soon, we revive here, we don't a new century to clients."  
I grabbed Marianson's arm and raced toward the door. Unfortunettly, Krys refused to go in another cab and we walked to the building. I surveyed my clothing before going in. Great; a black shirt and jeans, that would help his adjustment.  
I slowly walked in, and the doctor and ushured me into a room. I couldn't believe it; it was him.  
"Hello, Holmes." I said quietly, trying to figure out if he was alright. His gave me a look of unimaginable relief and took my hand, kissing it.  
"Hello, Olivia."  
  
Holmes POV (thanks Queen Hotaru!)  
  
I woke up to an imaginable bright light. As my eyes focused, I saw a tall, balding man, recently back from a vacation to some sort of islands and had recently married, smiling at me. "Mr. Holmes! Congratulations, you've been the first person to actually be revived. I do believe she'll want to see you."  
"She?" No one answered, he had left. Looking around at the motif, everything, beeped and blinked. So this was Olivia's world.  
"Hello, Holmes." I turned and saw what seemed a like a ghost. All at once, I found myself watching what had happened last I could remember.  
Watson and I had been playing roles perfectly, and I felt we should go for a walk. Well, to make a long story short, we were infront of a beautiful oceanscape. I asked her what I wanted to for a long time; "And would you mind if he kissed you?"  
She never answered me because a dark haired man put a hand on her mouth, she never had a chance to block him, and he had a gun to her temple.  
"I do believe she would say that that is very impolite and would slap you, Mr. Holmes." He smiled malichiously at me, and Watson looked around stricken.   
"And who are you?"  
"Some call me Professor Moriarty, while others, . . . . they call me Mr. Perrins." I tried to to act calm. "And what do you want?"  
"I just want a few 'loose strings' snipped." He pressed it harder into her head. I had to do this for Olivia.  
"I don't understand, Professor." "You know exactly what I mean. If the board got hold of information, saying that I was the one responsible for the death of my poor wife. She had more beauty than brains, except for when she wanted to use them. Nasty little wench, she was. Tried to get me framed for her suicide. But maybe this time, I should marry a woman of brains and beauty, what do you think, Olivia?"   
No one called her by her Christian name unless they had her consent, and he did not.  
"The name's Ms. Watson to you!" She screamed and grabbed the gun, preparing to flip him. "Homes . . I'd . . move!" The man flew through the air and landed with the gun in a little over an arm's reach, no matter, he wasn't waking up anytime soon.  
"Thank you, Holmes, you helped quite a bit back there." He sarcasm, which always came through, did. She held her arm protectivly.  
"Well, I've learned that in some cases, women can take care of themselves. You are one of them." Now or never, it was time to tell her how I felt.  
"Well, I thank you. But Holmes, I really think we should get out of here."  
I grabbed her by the shoulders. "No, wait, I have to tell you this. I am the o-"  
Her eyes widened and she spun us around, then turned as I watched the bullet hit her chest. She sat down and I did next to her.  
"Oh my God," I whispered, "no, no, no, no, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this."  
Again her wit. "Holmes, Shut up, okay? I don't want to spend my last moments on earth hearing you lament, okay?"  
I smiled and I couldn't stop the tears. "You repeated 'okay', you know." She tried to punch me, but it felt like a tap. "Oy, what a way to go out. Holmes?" I could barely speak. "I'm here." "That's exactly what I want to thank Watson and you for; for being there." She was quiet for a while. "Watson? Watson? Oh God, not Olivia, please, I loved her." I broke down and started to cry. THe second I looked away, her body was gone.Moriarty decided to shoot me, and as the pain filled every molecule of me, I could only think of one thing. "I'm sorry Olivia."  
It was Olivia, alright, and she was looking at me for some sign of recognition. I smiled at her and she looked relieved. When I took her hand, I kissed it slowly.  
"Hello, Olivia." It was so good to say her name again.  
"Holmes, you have to act like you don't know me, at least until we get to the hotel."  
"Yes, Ms. Watson." I shook her hand as we started out the door. "So, you're the descendant of my good friend Doctor John Watson?'  
She nodded, she was good at acting. "Yes. He had your body frozen-he must have known a lot of big people in the medical industry. This is my friend and associate, Ms. Marianson."  
She walked me to the window, and I saw m first glimpse of my new life.  
"Mr. Holmes, welcome to the year 2001."  
  
************************************************************************I realllly want to thank Queen Hotaru for all her wonderful idea and feedback. See ya all in the next chap! 


	3. You guys decide!

I stifled a laugh as Holmes perused the journals. His eyebrows were rising and then frowning as he went along. Outside the door must have been a over fifty people who had just watched the numerous news updates that were on television. For some reason, I knew that Doctor Jones would do something like calling the news and telling them.Holmes put the third manuscript down, looking out into space. "Brother Edmond did well, I suppose." He said quietly.  
Krys and Young looked at him questioningly, but I understood. His younger brother had moved in and pretended to be him, and Sherlock Holmes, . . Holmes had died because I stupidly let him get shot.  
"Well, it's coming back to the States with you guys, so you can read them all, later. Right now- we have the world's largest Holmesian convention pounding on the door." Young gestured with a thumb towards the door.  
My pocket started to play the Bach Minuet, so I picked up the call.  
"Watson here."  
"Who should be *here* instead of *there*!" I heard an all-too familiar voice on the other side. Lestrade was a creep of a guy, who looked like he never knew what 'outside' meant.  
"That's sort of impossible. I just revived Sherlock Holmes and I'm in London and I'm about to be attacked by a angry mob of his adorers." I said meekly.  
"Excuse me!?! I wouldn't believe that for a second!" He yelled.  
Now everyone in the room was looking at me, and I made a letter 'L' to Krys. She rolled her eyes.  
"No no, Lestrade, I'm the one that should be saying 'excuse me', I can have you fired toot-sweet. You basically my coffee-boy, so I'd be watching myself if I were you. What do you want?"  
"I want you, Olivia, and Krys to be here A.S.A.P.-" The cell phone was grabbed out of my hand.  
"First of all, no one should speak to a lady like that," Holmes said tensely, "and if I knew where you were you would know why I had such a good right hook!"  
"Holmes!" I shrieked and grabbed the phone from him. "Listen, Les? We're gonna have to get back to you there, okay?"  
"You're gambling at the shore," he said flatly.  
"No, I'm not in Atlantic City."  
"Well, tell your boyfriend-"  
"No, that's not my boyfriend, that's Sherlock Holmes. I hate to end our conversation, but if those people out there break down the door, we won't be alive to get there."  
Krys bit her lip. "Okay, Lestrade the butthole wants us to high-tail it to another continent, and we're all going to die a slow and painful trampling brought on by a group literate tontos."  
"How are we going to get out of here?" Young asked.  
"Window." Holmes and I said at the same time. I let it a small crack of a smile escape.  
So, ten minutes later, the four of us where sneaking behind the building. "Does everyone do this?" Holmes asked as we got into Young's car, now an escape car in many ways, as Krys helped me lug the trunk to the back. We raced back to the hotel and safety.   
"Well, I guess I'll see you guys then." The lawyer said sheepishly.   
Krys jumped and hugged him, then gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much! If you're ever in the States, look us up!" Holmes turned and his face reddened.  
"Oh, uh, people of today are very-open with their emotions." I explained quickly.  
Along the way through London, we explained many of the modern conveniences. Being, well, himself, he took it all in one stride and acted like he knew exactly what was going on.  
We checked him into the adjacent room, which shared a balcony, so that we were only a slam on the wall away. I was in the middle of explaining the microwave popcorn when Krys got a call from Young. She pouted and turned to me.  
"This is fun and all, but-oh, come on he's soooo cute! May I take a rain check?" I rolled my eyes with fake sarcasm.   
"I'll die, but okay."  
She got ready and left, and Holmes and I were alone.  
"So," he said as we stood on the balcony.  
"So."  
"Can you forgive me?"  
I turned to face him slowly. "What did *you* ever do?"  
He looked out, squinting the pavement below. "I let you get shot."  
"Holmes, that's-"  
"That's all *my* fault. My idea to go in the maze." My eyes were tearing. He never did anything, it was me.  
"But my idea to agree."  
"But my idea to go to his residence."  
"And my fault that we figured out that who did it, so it was my fault that we had the bomb, and my fault that your leg was cut, and it was my fault to even be there in the first place."  
He raised his eyebrows. "True, but I could have been rude and anti-social, like I usually am."  
"Fine, it's your fault I got shot and it's my fault you got shot. See, now the guilt is evenly distributed." I turned to the trunk that was standing in the corner. "You realized that the trunk . . ."  
"Was smaller inside than it should have been? Yes, what's in there?"  
I flipped it out so he could read the stories. He grunted occasionally as he read them, squinting and laughing at some parts, muttering. It was good to see him and his habits again.  
"Olivia, you're staring at me."  
I snapped out of my thoughts. "Huh?"  
"You were staring at me. Would you like to share anything with me?"  
"Er, no."  
"Women." He muttered and continued.  
I slowly walked on to the balcony. The Thames was gorgeous at night. Holmes stood up and waved the manuscript in my face. "None of these were published, right? None from the lid?"  
"None. I've read the Canon over ten times and each one has not contained any sign of them." I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked so beaten up, there wasn't the usual shine I saw in them.  
"Holmes, you are not the perfect soldier type of person, if you want to talk about something, just tell me, you know I'll listen. That is, unless you pull a gun and stick it in my face and say 'omae o korosu' . . . . ."  
"I was just thinking about what it would have been like if I didn't recognize a single face in this world."  
"Hey, I did it, I was fine."  
"But you had an idea of what happened."  
"I didn't really, Watson was a great, intelligent man, but he did like to exaggerate a bit. In other words, I was as clueless as you are." I checked my watch. "It's getting less late, so I'm hitting the sack, you can do whatever, but don't leave the room or expect to be mauled by many, many people."  
I had a good night's rest, and Holmes was cheerful as he crossed on the balcony to our room. Krys, had, as now the norm, come in in the wee hours of the morning, so she was still asleep. I started to pack as Holmes sipped his coffee.  
"So, where are we going again?" HE asked for the fifth time, I groaned.  
"We are going to Nee York City, in fact, we have to leave soon. When Holmes asked me what I was doing with a glass of ice water, I grinned. "Wake-up Call."  
  
Holmes P.O.V.  
  
The next thing I heard was Marianson's scream as Watson laughed out loud.  
Definitely immature, one could tell that. I watched with slight amusement at the two women, Marianson chasing Watson.   
"Tonta! Tonta ye feo! Yo deber matar tú!" she screamed in a shrieking voice.  
"Not Spanish! Habeo habui habitum misericordia! " Watson shrieked.  
"It's what I grew up speaking! Of course I'm going to use it, Little Miss Latin!"  
I shook my head and went back to the morning paper. Talk of cell phones, automobiles, latest dance clubs-of which I had only a very small idea of-were sprinkled into every column. I put the paper down with sigh.  
By this time they had stopped and were laughing, but Watson looked over at me. "You all right?" Those Americanisms.  
"Yes, I *am* all right, and you should have asked, 'Are you all right?' *Do* try to use proper English." I corrected her.  
She rolled her eyes, placing her suitcase near the door with a 'thud'. "How can I when I am American?"  
"There is no difference." I retorted.  
"Yes *there's* a difference." She put on a vulgar accent. "I aint all proper and stuff."  
I cringed at that. "And I always thought you were proper."  
She flashed me a heart stopping grin. "Appearances are deceiving, you know."  
She left to take her things downstairs."  
  
Marianson's POV  
  
I was watching this Sherlock guy. He had the bug for my amiga, *really* bad. Holmes was in L-O-V-E, love.  
When she started to talk to him it was like he thought there was no one else in the room. Trust me, as the unofficial center of the universe, that's very annoying. When we were on the street, a guy was checking her out. Holmes stepped in front of him and fixed him with an icy glare. Then, when we were in the back room, he heard her get called by her first name by that sleazeball. He basically killed him via the cell phone.  
And one of the weirdest things was that they seemed to know each other. Liv already called him "Holmes" like she knew him. And they certainly were talking like they knew each other. I had a hunch there was something Livie and Holmes weren't saying . . .   
  
  
  
************************************************************************  
Blah, i'm sorry i took soo long. I posted, though. It's all thanks to Queen Hotaru, who was IM-ing me and helped me to tackle my writers block without the use of a fluff or ice pick. You be the best, girl!  
I'm going to try to put you guys in the story, but I NEED NAMES! Otherwise, people with weird names will start to pop up in the autopsy room in this story . . . . 


	4. Koo and a fan

Holmes tapped his fingers on his knee, what seemed to everyone else as impatience. I for one knew it was fear. "And this thing will just . . fly? Because of a hulk of metal?" I nodded.  
"Yup." He grimaced.  
"It's 'yes'." Almost everyone on the plane where staring at us. Holmes rested the edge of his nose on his fist, so that where I was sitting was the only person who could see what he was saying. "Why are they all staring at me?"  
"Because you're you."  
He sat back in the chair, fingers steapled. "What is on our list of thngs to do?"  
"First," I eyed his clothing, it looked like he was in medical scrubs, "shopping spree for you."  
"Oh, the joy." He said with sarcasm.   
'Well, it's either that or people think you have problems, that you think medical uniforms are a fashion statement, or that you are always at the hospital."  
He raised an eyebrow. "And they would be bad?"  
"Well, you'd be labeled for the rest of your life before opening your mouth."  
He shrugged, then looked up to inspect the buttons on the overhead console. He started to hit the assistance button.  
A very familiar looking , tall girl started over. Her dark hair was a pendulum behind her as she quickly walked to our seats. She leaned over to ask Holmes what he wanted, but she looked at me from behind glasses. "Livie?"  
"Hannah!" I stood up and hugged her. We had been pen palls when we were younger, then we went to college, she, Krys and I were inseparable. "Homes, this is Hannah Hampton. Hannah, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. What *are* you doing here?"  
"I need some money for my art school. Plus, ya know, I get to see other countries. Even if it's only for a little while." Her expression changed to worry. "Are you all right? I heard about the accident-"  
I shook my head. "I'm great, better than ever, in fact."  
"Well, I have to go," she gestured toward another passenger.  
"You seem to know people all over the place."  
"I *live* all over the place."  
He looked out he window, watching clouds as we flew, I fell asleep on our way. I couldn't remember how long I was out, but the next thing I knew, Holmes was tapping my arm. I lifted my head and blushed. For the second time, I had fallen asleep, by accident, with my head on his shoulder. "Goshen. Nani?"  
"What's that down there?"  
"That's New York."  
"And where all those cranes are?"  
"Oh," I sank back into the seat. "I'll tell you later, okay?"  
He shrugged. "Fine."  
I shook my head. It was like trying to explain it to a child, there were no words to describe what had happened only four months earlier. I didn't want to right then and I wasn' t going to.  
We left the airport, choosing to walk to our apartment, only a few blocks away. Along the way, Holmes marveled at everything. When I say everything, I mean it. By the time we got back to our place, I was about to strangle him.  
Krys opened the door to and yelled over the expected loud rock music. "Koo? Ya here? Koo!"  
"'Koo'? What is that, other than the sound a dove makes?" Holmes asked me.  
"Koo is Krys's little brother. It's short for Kooldridge." I explained.  
"Odd name. And it matches Krysten's."  
"That was the point."  
"There's seven of us." Krys added from inspecting the fire ladder, obviously he wasn't there. "Koolridge, Krysten, Kandice, Karmen, Keladriey, Kamden-and Fred."  
"Fred?" Holmes snorted.  
"Pain killers, what can I say?" She shrugged. "Koo-oh! There you are! Koo, I want you to meet someone." She paraded aroud the corner her brother. Koolridge had come to the city in the spur-of-the-moment, finding-his-self adventure, or something like that. His brown hair had been high-lighted, courtosy of me, and now was a unatural yellow. His blue eyes, much like his sister's, showed through his sloppy bangs. He was in his usual baggy black pants with another hard-core rock tee-shirt. He now lazily observed Holmes.  
"Who's that?" He asked, finally.  
"This is Sherlock Holmes." Krys replied.  
"Sure, you've gotta be kiddin' me."   
"Koo, trust me, this *is* Sherlock Holmes."  
"Well, he does look like him from the television reports."  
"Does he mean that box with moving pictures?" Holmes asked curiously.  
"Yes, he does. Koo, you, mean it go here already?" Krystens's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.  
"Yeah, if you didn't notice, new travels fast these days," He rolled his eyes. "So, Mr. Holmes, are you a doctor or somethin?"  
"No, this is what they gave me to wear and-" I cut him off.  
"And we're going to the mall to get him some clothing. Koo, do you have your church clothing?"  
"Yeah, you can have it. Why"  
"Give it to Holmes, let him get changed out of that stupid outfit." He came out, looking out of place." I grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, let's go."  
  
Twenty minutes, three hotdogs, and four music stores later, we were finally looking for clothing. Holmes sighed as I asked him what type of clothing he liked.   
"Dark, and not like those people with that infernal hair were weaing, but dark."  
"Well, there's Hot Topic, but that't not what you want."  
"Why?"  
I pointed to the store. "Oh," he said in a tiny voice.  
"Here we go." We walked to the men's section of the department store. A young teenage girl, engossed in a book, was at the counter.   
"Excuse me," I said quietly, she looked up. The book she was reading was-dear Lord, why?-Sherlock Holmes. "Um, this is my friend, S-"  
"Sherlock Holmes!" She screached. "Oh my goodness! I saw you on television!" She glared at me. "You're that Watson, aren't you?"   
"Guilty, yes." No little snot-nosed kid was going to give a better deathglare than me. "He needs some clothing, could ya help us a bit?"  
She turned and smiled sweetly at him. "It would be a pleasure, Sherlock, let me help you. I think I know exactly what you want." She started to talk about the book and was piling shirts, pants, and things I couldn't even see, due to the hieght of the stack.  
"Please excuse me," Holmes said politly. I could almost feel his muscles tighten in impatience."  
"Yes, Sherlock, what is it?" This kid thought this was her boyfriend or something. The smile she gave him was peirced by braces.  
"First, call me Mr. Holmes, and second, Oli-Watson, put the clothing down." I sighed in thanks and put them down. "Third, this is not the clothing I particularly like, so, please, I would like to shop on my own." He walked off, leaving the two of us girls. She marched icily up to me.   
"What are you doing to him? I know his entire life my heart, and this is *not* the Sher-"  
"You would know, if you were such a big fan, that no one *ever* called anyone by their given names. How could you know his entire life if he is only twenty-five?"  
"Twenty-five? He can't be!"  
"Yeah, he is. Doyle had a vivid imagination." I crossed my arms. I was not the debate captian for nothing.  
"Well, why did he started to call you 'Oli' something?"  
I shrugged. "Don't know, and neither are you." I started to walk off, then turned quickly. "And just for the record, Mary Russel wasn't real, so don't get your hopes up."  
  
  
"Hello," Holmes said as he was looking through shirts. His greeting was in a clipped, discreet voice.  
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know she was a fan."  
"Who's fan? Not mine," he held out a shirt, wasn't his size, anyway. I put it back when he turned. "She's Doyle's fan. Or, to be a little more specific, Edmond's."  
"Please forgive me," I said softly. What had I done, anyway? Why did I worry so much if he *was* angry at me?  
"Watson," he sighed. "I am not angry at you, I'm just agrivated that all these people expect-"  
"Someone other than who you really are? They expect you to be perfect, to be allways right? Yes, those are reasons to be angry. You have every right."  
He smiled at me, "What would I do without you?"  
I looked down at the shirt in his hands-if he was a 500 pund man if would of fit. "You'd have been wearing a shirt the size of the Barnum and Baily Circus tent. I'll help." We proceeded to shop for correctly sized, correctly tasteful, clothing. 


	5. Phone calls and long name

I laughed as we walked down the street. Holmes was watching a strret band, consisting of garbage cans, and raised an eyebrow. "Thats . .music?"  
"Yeah."  
"Alright then, now, moving on." Two more blocks and we were home.   
"May I ask you something?" It was worth a try.  
"Should I get out paper and pen or will it be short?"  
"Ha ha, very funny. I just want to know why you call me by name?"  
"Well, would you rather I call you 'you'? I thought calling you 'Watson' is better than 'you'."  
"No, Holmes, why do you call me 'Olivia' all of the sudden? You never did before."  
"Well, um-"  
"Watson!" I swirled around. The Black Box if Life was solved; Lestrade *did* go outside sometimes. "Why are you out here with this guy? You *know* you're wanted back at the office!" He took a moment and surveyed Holmes. "Is this that Holmes guy?"  
"Yes, I am. Infact, I'm the one that said I'd give you a right hook for treating Watson in such a manner that is unrespectful-"  
"Yeah, it's him. Getting doughnuts for the shift, are we?" I asked sarcastically. "My, Lestrade you *have* got yourself *quite* the job there."  
He opened his mouth, then shut it and walked off. I slapped Holmes on the back of the head. "What were you thinking?"  
"I was standing up for a injustice."  
"Wufie, I tell you, that's who you are!" I rolled my eyes as we walked inside. "And I have got to stop watching that show because each time I do, I find myself wanting to dress in pink, get a long blonde wig on and be Queen of the World. I never gave you the grand tour of this place yet, did I?"  
"No, you didn't."  
"Okay," I walked towards our kitchenette. 'The kitchen, the living room." I walked over to the black painted door. "Koo's, Krys's, mine." My room is my pride and joy, always clean, and my little sanctuary.   
Holmes made a quick glance. "It looks like something of your's."  
"Well, purple's my favorite color, and I like Gothic style decorating. Gothic as in Midevial."  
He smiled. "It reminds me of you quite a bit. It rather different than what I've seen, old-fashioned, and elegant."  
"Holmes, you *are* a ladies man."   
"What?"  
"Nevermind. This is your room. Sorry, we kinda rent two apartments, a bigger one and a smaller one, at the same time. Apartments aren'y usually this large." I opened the door to the guest room. It looked like his from Baker Street. Mahoganny and leather. It looked more like a study than a room, but I knew he would feel at home in there.  
"Exelent taste, who ever did this room." Good, I worked hard on it.  
The phone rang in the other room, but I missed it. Silently groaning, my mother's shrill voice started to talk. "Oliva Oni Mosi Akila Urbi Jamila Watson, why did you not call me?!? You go careening of the side of a bridge and don't even give me any way of knowing! I only found out when I saw you on the television! Call me, now!!!"  
"Great, just great, damnit. I knew I forgot something." I slammed my head on the doorway. "Sorry you had to hear that."  
"What was that? What she called you?" I colored.  
"My parents had a fight about my name. My father wouldn't allow any other name than Olivia, and that my mother could pick out my middle name, so she picked several."  
"What do they mean?"  
"Umm, they're Egyptian. Oni- desired; Mosi- born first, well, I'm the only one, anyway. Akila means inteligent, Urbi means princess, and Jamila means beautiful. Basically, my Mum wanted to make sure I was a well-rounded person in every department. And your name-which I don't get-means blonde, of all things."  
"Well, my mother thought I would be blonde." The way he said it was dissmissive, I took it as a sign.  
"I better go call her. You look tired," I comented as I watched his eyelids droop.  
"No, I'm fine." He shook his head.  
"No, you are not. Go to bed. I'll bring you some tea, or something, okay?"  
"Fine."  
  
  
  
FOR A CHANGE OF PACE . . . THIRD PERSON!!!!  
  
Holmes sighed as he slipped into the bed. It felt like his, too. "Watson did a good job." He said with satisfaction.   
In the other room, Watson was fighting with her mother via the phone. "Yes, I know-No, you're right." She sighed. "No Mum, I *was* going to call you, but I-Yes, that's where I was." She started to tap her fingernails on counter. "I didn't bring you back a sovinier . . .I was a little busy with getting him revived-I'm going to hang up now, you clearly have Ethal over. I know because your doing this to prove that something went wrong and I *do* care and I was going to call. Listen, I hit my head sort of hard-English accent? What in Hell's name are you-good bye, Mum." The phone hit the reciever with a sharp clang.   
Holmes heard sound of rustling in the kitchenette, and cursing as wood hit skin. He chuckled soflty to himself, now *that* was not something you heard from Mrs. Watson, or any other woman in the nineteenth century.   
Watson came in the room with tea, and sat on the edge of the bed. She let a small smirk escape as his face turned crimson. "I can't stand all day, you know. I made you some tea. Mind you, I only had a few packets left from the last time Koo was sick. I made him drink it. It's rasberry."  
"Thank you."  
"Anytime."  
"Watson?"  
"Sou?"  
"Nevermind."  
She looked at him, incredulous. "Okay, if you need anything . ."  
She closed his door, swearing she heard him say something like 'bonne nuit, mon amour' . . .  
'Good night, my love.' 


	6. Errands for a guy not alive for more tha...

"Hey, Angie, how's it going? Got anything?" Olivia said, walking into the room where they did the autopsies. The blonde haired woman looked up from a corpse. Blowing a curl away from her thick glasses, she smiled.  
  
"Yep. Big one, found in the subway. Nasty little job, too. Stomach cut clean open, insides removed, floppy disc jammed in there. Nearly lost the thing, too. Charlie was a little tired."  
  
Olivia sighed. Charlie was so clumsy sometimes. "I suppose the area has already been trampled on. Shame, too. Could've gotten a lot from that." Angie stared at her. "What?"  
  
"Your voice."   
  
"What?"  
  
"It sounds . . . British!"  
  
"You know, I keep hearing that and it's getting annoying! Why is every one doing this?"  
  
"Whoa," Angie held up her hands, "okay, I get the idea. You know, you're always going past your job."  
  
Olivia shrugged. "I know, it doesn't matter as long as I can get out of it alive." She turned and started walking down the hall.  
  
"You're gonna get yourself killed with an attitude like that.!" She called after her.  
  
Walking towards an office, Watson started to hear an old song.  
  
"*Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away,*" sang Perry Como.  
  
"Catch a Falling Star," she said, walking in the room. The man at the computer jumped and grabbed his chest.  
  
"Jeez, W, what was that for? Don't you know what knocking is?" He fixed his pocket protector and ran his fingers through his greased hair. She walked over and sat on a stool, dangling her legs like a little girl.  
  
"Hmmm, no. Got any goodies for me, Marshal?"  
  
"Just the mp3 you were listening to."  
  
"Were you able trace it?"  
  
He shook his head. "We checked all the sharewares out there, none match." He replayed part of it, then looked at the moniter thoughtfully. "Did a nice job, actually."  
  
"Hey, when we find this person, don't get bribed and let him go for a trade in music recording. Anyway, if we can't find the file online, can we find a CD it's on?"  
  
"It's damn Perry Como!! Oldies lovers all over have the cd! There's NO way we could ever find it."  
  
"Well, what about the floppy, can't we try to find the company that make it. I mean, to be able to get a mp3 on a floppy disc take some serious space on it. That's not a usual disc. It should be easy to find the guy if we look at a list of the people who bought them."  
  
He shook his head. "Compacted the file. It's a Staples brand floppies. Cheap, 25 in a pack . . . big seller."  
  
"So we basicaly got nothing?"  
  
Marshal rolled his eyes. "Wow you learn quick."  
  
She grinned. "At least I'm not the one with something in my computer that was formally in a body."  
  
Marshal paled. "Uh, no way. We copied it. Plus, it's evidence. I don't want any blood and guts in my baby." He patted the computer fondly.  
  
"And people think *I'm* obsessed!" Olivia shook her head. "I'm going to find a mocha," she muttered, agrivated. "Can you get me a copy of the case files?"  
  
"No sweat."  
  
Sitting at her computer a few minutes later (her mocha hunt in vain), a email came through with the files, which she promptly printed out and started to read. She was so immersed in what she was doing that she didn't see the tall, thin man walk up right behind her and-  
  
"Hello!"   
  
Olivia screached and turned around, promptly face-to-face with a glass jar of Starbucks. She glared up at the man, then her mouth dropped when she saw who it was.  
  
"Holmes! What are you doing here?!? Better yet *how* did you get here?"  
  
He handed her the drink. "The answer to the first is that I was bored after sitting infront of the . .what is it called? Oh yes, the television, so I took the money off of the counter, I hope you don't mind-"  
  
She shrugged, "It was Krys' for pizza, anyway." She went back to her struggle with the bottle.  
  
"Anyway, two answer the second-" he paused and took the bottle, opening it quickly, effortlessly, and handing it back to her, "-I do believe it is called walking. You know, one foot in front of the other, and soon you'll be walking out the door?" He sang off key. "That *was* on the tape, you know." Olivia stared at him. "Something wrong?"  
  
"Krys taped over the National Geographic tapes." She murmered and slammed her head on her desk continually. Holmes looked down at the papers.  
  
"And what do we have here?" He murmered, picking up the papers and scanning them quickly. "Interesting. Not the hound, but interesting." She grabbed them back.  
  
"Hey, this is mine, bud. You go get a job here and *then* I'll share a case. By the way, where *is* my partner? Ag?" She leaned back. calling.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Ya seen Krys?" She frowned.  
  
"Yes, she was out on a date or something." Holmes snorted.   
  
"Shut up, that's impolite," Watson chastised him. "Uh, thanks, I guess."  
  
Agnes looked up at Holmes, then back at her winking. Olivia rolled her eyes and made the 'cut it' sign.   
  
"You go home, I'll find Krys, and we'll show you the magic of fast food." She turned back to her work, taking a sip and sighing.  
  
"Uh, yes, about that. I have . . errands I have to do."  
  
Olivia looked at him with her mouth full and saw he wasn't joking. Laughing out loud, she spit her drink across the room, gaining the gaze of others. Holmes cocked his head to the side.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
"You, for one." She started to dab at the mess. "Errands, things to do, you haven't even been alive for more than a week!"  
  
'You'll thank me later," he muttered softly, a look on his face that she couldn't distinguish.  
  
"Alright," she said slowly. "If you need anything, you have my number in that adress book, right?"  
  
"You're as insistant as a mother is," he grinned. Watson gripped the side of the desk, suddenly feeling lightheaded. It had happened before, strangly whenever he grinned like that. Just a coincidence, she told herself.  
  
"Fine. See you later, I suppose, Watson." He started to jog out of the office.  
  
"And who was *that* fine young man?" Agnes giggled.   
  
"Holmes," Watson replied darkly.  
  
"Oh, how cute! How long have you been dating?"  
  
"Dating!?!? Holmes and I-well, that one is hysterical."  
  
She shrugged. "Your personal love life is of no concern of mine. That it, unless I want it to."  
  
Olivia was about to retort but a loud, large mob tearing towards where she was standing stopped her.  
  
"Ms. Watson, is it true that you've woken up Sherlock Holmes from a cryogenic state?"  
  
"Ms. Watson!"  
  
"Over here, Ms. Watson!"  
  
Olivia's mouth turned into a big 'o', then she tore off towards the back exit, quickly grabbing her things and then leaving.  
  
Panting with the door slammed shut, she looked up to see Krys with a smug look on her face. Holmes was sitting, staring bashfully at the picture over the table.  
  
"I want answers, NOW!" Krys hollered, pointing towards the trunk, the secret compartment open, I found those in there, and I'm not stupid. I can put two and two together."  
  
"I didn't think you'd believe me," she said shamefully.   
  
"Livvie, I read anything I can find on paranormal research attitude! Why wouldn't I believe you? She thumbed through one of them. "So you went back?"  
  
"You know, you *should* include Holmes in this," Olivia said meakly.  
  
Krys was on a tyrant. She whirrled around. "So is this true?"  
  
He nodded. "Yes. One minute I'm with Watson in the parlor, the next, . . standing over a crumpled, frazzled young woman staring dazedly at the ceiling." He smiled at Olivia, the one where her stomache did flip- flops. "And that was Olivia Watson."  
  
"I *knew* you two were acting too friendly," she muttered. "So that's why you were so worried about him being revived succesfully. He wasn't a stranger. He was a . ." She stopped and looked at the two of them to find the right word.  
  
"Friend," they said in unison.  
  
"Whatever. So was there anything else that was not put in the papers?"  
  
"Not much. Watson was included in almost everything. In the end though, we were walking to get relief from our roles, and we met up with-"  
  
"The evil, two-faced, pompous man," Olivia muttered, getting a glare from Holmes.  
  
"One must have respect for enemies, dear." The nickname made her sit up straighter, suddenly feeling her cheeks blushing. "We met up with Moriarty. He threatened to kill Watson, so she flipped him-rather good flip, too-"  
  
"I *still* hurt, though. Fat old thing."   
  
"Do you mind?!?"  
  
"Oh, sorry."  
  
"We were about to leave when he turned to shoot me, but Watson stepped in front, and took the bullet." Krys gasped. "I wished I could do something, but all I could do was watch the scene unfold. Afterwards, he shot me, too. Next thing I knew, I was waking up at the lab."  
  
"Alright. Alright." She leaned on the door to the bathroom, then straightened up and swung it open. "Koo!"  
  
He tripped and fell on the floor, looking up abashed.  
  
"I suppose we should go on the tely and tell the world," said through his hands.  
  
"Ah, I can see us now. First Jerry, then Sally, next, the Ananda Show!" Koo said happily. Every one glared at him.  
  
"More like the insane asylum," Watson commented darkly. "Oh, just to let everyone know, we might have to use the fire exit to leave the house for a while. H.Q. got mobbed earlier by every news station known on this side of the United States."  
  
"Lovely, like I needed a larger damper on my life than Sis." Koo roller his eyes.  
  
"I suggest pizza tonight," declared Krys, then turned to get the money from where it was. She groped for it, then turned. "Where did my money go!?!?" She yelped.  
  
"Uh, to the store down the street for a mocha," Holmes said.   
  
Koo leaned and said something quietly to Holmes, who darkened and got up, an iron grip on Koo's shoulder, and walked into the other room.  
  
Krys started to order the food when Olivia's cell phone went off, which she answered.  
  
"You never told him you had doctor's orders to stay out of work!?!" yelled Lestrade.  
  
"I kinda didn't stay around *for* the orders. What did the doc say?"  
  
"You're to stay out of work for a week, but Krys, well, she better be here tomorrow."  
  
She was slightly relieved. The pounding headaches, mixed with her arm's pain and the sheer emotional stress was too much on her.   
  
"Alright. Bye."  
  
"What's up?" Krys asked as she hung up the house phone.  
  
"I can't go to work for week." She pouted.  
  
"Poor baby." Krys hugged her. "Anything else?"  
  
"Yes. You *have* to be in work tomorrow."  
  
She blushed. "I will, but uh, I've got stuff to do tomorrow."  
  
"Fine," Olivia sighed as Holmes walked briskly into the room, pulling out the cushions of the sofa. "What are you looking for, Holmes?"  
  
'The remote control." He said tightly.  
  
"We keep it in the drawer." Koo offered, smugly.  
  
The evening news came on, a few things past, but then they started to say something about their street and everyone payed attention.  
  
"The Jolly General Store-" said the news reporter, taking off her fake smile and replacing it with concern.  
  
"I told Carlos to get his father to change the name, but no. Hey, she's hott!" Krys hit Koo on the back of the head after his declaration.  
  
"- Was robbed. Police link it to the Dogs, a British gang also inhabiting New York."  
  
The phone rang as they switched to the weather, and Watson grabbed it.  
  
"'Lo?"  
  
"Watson?"   
  
"Marshal? What's the matter?" She asked worried.  
  
"We had another murder. They didn't want you to know since you were supposed to be out, but I snuck out to pretend to smoke to let you know. I'm going to fax over the stuff now, okay?"  
  
"Thank you so much." She ran into her room and started to read it quickly, sitting down slowly in a chair.  
  
"What's that?" Holmes asked.  
  
"Read." She said off-handedly. Shrugging, he walked over and leaned on the back of the chair, reading over her shoulder.  
  
"'Marks and mutilation point to those used by the Dogs.'" Holmes murmered.  
  
Shaking, she got up and walked out to the fire escape, curling in a ball. This couldn't be happening, and yet it was. She started to rock back and forth.  
  
Holmes crawled out and put a hand on her shoulder. "What's the matter?"  
  
Tears were prickling at her lids. She couldn't let him know, she and her mother had tried to put the past behind them.  
  
"Olivia?"  
  
"Part of the reason my Mum and I left," she choked, "was because Dad was part of a crime ring, a gang."  
  
"And?" He knew the answer already.  
  
"The gang was called the Dogs."  
  
************************************************************************  
(A/N) Sorry it took me so long. I had TONS of school junk had to get done. But I'm back! And I apologize about the name, but when I was delusional with a fever when I was sick (long story, although it *does* involve oyesters {really}) I was reversing a couple of characters names, and got something that went with Dogs. I have no idea if there really is any store called that, or any gangs with the name, so let me live! I want to write! 


	7. Missing babies and an over-worrying Holm...

Holmes sucked in air, looking at his hands. "Oh," he said quietly, to which she nodded.  
  
"Yeah, in fact, I was going to be in an arranged marriage." She smiled. "Sort of funny, isn't it?"  
  
"And who was this person?" Watson shrugged.  
  
"Johnny. He was always clinging on to me like a leach. Hated him, had face only a mother could love." Shuddering, she drew her knees up farther.  
  
"I have to get going," he said, starting to climb the escape ladder. "I'll be back soon."  
  
"Errands?" she said, knowing the answer, not wanting to know what they really were. If he couldn't tell her, then it must have been something to truly give him a guilty conscious. He turned and gave her a small, pained smile.  
  
"Errands."  
  
For five minutes she sat, doing nothing but thinking. So many things could happen, she thought, if they know I'm here, then they'd be after me. I know too much. I turned my back on them.  
  
"Liv? Foods here!" hollered Koo.  
  
"Coming!" she called back, going inside to someplace she knew and felt safe.  
  
"Holmes had to leave?" Krys said with a full mouth, getting a nod and a plastered smile.  
  
"He had things he had to do," Watson smiled, turning back to the papers. Unfortunately, they were gone. "Holmes," Olivia growled, knowing where they were. The pocket of his jacket, she'd bet her life on it. "I'm going to bed!" She groaned.  
  
"Fine, see ya in the morning," said Koo, while extracting his sister's last piece of pepperoni pizza off her plate.  
  
Curling in a ball, Watson tried to block out all that was happening and relax. That was an impossible feat in its own self. She hugged her pillow as she remembered a day with her father.  
  
_"Olivia, meet Sandra," her father said cordially.   
  
"Nice to meet you, miss," she curtsied, receiving a glare from her father. _Oh no_, she thought, **I didn't do it right! Oh no, oh no, oh no.  
**  
"A pleasure, Mr. Watson, she's an angel!" the woman exclaimed, taking off her fur coat. Daddy has coats like that; he has a warehouse full. He got mad one day when I started to tell my friend about them.  
  
"In most cases, yes," he answered. "Olivia, I would like you to meet Johnny Edwards."  
  
A little boy came up from behind her. Olivia flinched. The boy's skin was sickly pale, and his hair was greasy black. He wiped his nose and held out his hand. Olivia took it, hiding her disgust.  
  
"He's going to be your husband."  
  
Without turning, Olivia could feel her mother straighten up. She didn't like this, not at **al**l.   
  
"I'm sorry I have to cut this short, but my darling step-daughter Diana has piano lessons. She's _so_ talented! Her father is so proud of her." Olivia was taken by the hand. On looking up she saw it was her mother. They walked off as the Lady and her father talked.  
_  
She and her mother had left soon after; realizing her father would stop at nothing to keep the family business going. Mum was protecting me, the only way she could.   
  
Sighing as pain started to kick in in the back of her head, she rolled over and padded in to the bathroom, taking a pain reliever and slipping back into bed.   
  
As daylight hit her eyelids (as well as Jimmy Eat World started to blast on the alarm clock), Watson sat up and without opening her eyes sighed while she threw the clock across the room. I wonder how many of those I go through a year. Five minutes later she was sitting at the table, which had been added to an additional seat (Koo's impossible feat for the day, since the table was small and crammed in the corner) with Koo, Krys, and Holmes, who was staring at his bowl.  
  
"Problem, Holmes?"   
  
"Yes, what is this stuff?"  
  
"Cereal."  
  
"Ah, and you eat it?"  
  
"Yup, it's sweet, too."  
  
Koo gestured with his spoon at a candy in the bowl. "And that's what you call a chemically engineered marshmallow. Ah, technological advancements."  
  
Krys hit him on the back of the head, then turned toward Watson.  
  
"Can I borrow your baby?" Krys asked anxiously, while Holmes choked on his cereal in the background.  
  
"No! I didn't even say hello to her. No, Doc and I spent too much time cleaning her back up last time you took her for the day. Nope, nope, _nada_!"  
  
"Fine. I wanted to walk anyway!" Marianson stomped out of the room and slammed the front door.  
  
"_Baby!?!?!_ Watson . . ."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "No, that's just my nickname for my motorcycle. I call her my baby because she's a really good bike and all. I spend probably more time, money, and effort on her than you and your brother probably spent on makeup for disguises."  
  
"Oh." He said, showing signs of relief, "I thought you meant-"  
  
"I know I told you stuff like that is done today, but, not me. I'm an old-fashioned girl who will not settle for anything but a gentleman when it comes to a marriage someday." She blushed, realizing what she had said. Watson tried to change the subject quickly. 'Well, since I've got nothing better to do, how about a little tour of the city?"  
  
He smiled. "I'd love to."  
  
As they walked through the city, Olivia felt better than she had ever remembered. Hell, she thought, I could probably hurl four Moriartys at this moment.  
  
Slowly, realizations of what she felt had started to creep up on her, and she always felt anxious around Holmes. She always had something she wanted to say or do, but knew it was wise not to. Watson constantly found the need to mentally slap herself, and it was more than twice everyday.  
  
She stopped to think for a moment, and Holmes went on without her. When he realized this, he turned and looked at her anxiously.  
  
"Are you alright, Watson?"   
  
_Aw, look, Liv, he's worried about you. That's so cute_, said a voice inside her head.  
  
**_Olivia, don't take it as a sign, think of what you'll loose if it's not real!_** Said another.  
  
She smiled weakly at him and nodded, and he grinned at her.   
  
_Ooh, tell him no and that you have to kiss him!  
  
**No, don't do it! Look away! Think of road kill! Anything, just not him! Pretend it's that creep Moriarty, or John Watson!**  
_  
"Yeah, I'm fine." They continued to walk on. "You know, though, Krysten was acting weird and I think I should go check at home, to make sure everything is okay. Do you have things you have to do?"  
  
"No, I'm yours for the day." He looked away after speaking, but she could see the side of his face was redder than it was before from the cold weather.  
  
"I know what you meant, Holmes. I'm not going to think that's suggesting anything, so don't worry. Home?"  
  
"Sounds good to me."  
  
Five minutes later Olivia was hanging their coats up while Holmes went into his own room. She shrugged to her self. He had as much a right to privacy as anyone else. He was probably homesick, she decided. Tea would do the trick.

Gliding past the coat rack, Olivia realized that something was missing from the key rack. The left side, second in. Motorcycle's key's spot. Missing equaled Krysten. Watson growled.

"Great, just great." She soon found it was not over. A piece of paper was tacked to the spot instead.

__

Olivia and Holmes;

Don't look for me. Took Koo and the motorcycle. Be back later.

~K.

"Well that helps much," she muttered under her breath. Actually, it did. It would allow her to ask Holmes what she was worrying about the most recently.

If he was involved in drugs.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on his door and waited until he opened it.

"Holmes?"

He grunted as he turned to clean up some papers on the table.

"Holmes, I really need to ask you something."

"Fire away," he said without turning or really paying attention.

"Are you leaving the house to do drugs?"

Holmes' gaunt frame became rigid. He turned slowly towards her. "Why do you think I would ever do such a thing?"

She looked at the floor. "Because you've done it in the past, and it's easy to get your hands on that sort of stuff if you know were to get it."

He grabbed her by the shoulder and sat her down on the seat. "Olivia, didn't I promise to be clean when you asked me to, the first time?"

She nodded, remembering that night when she had seen what he had been doing to himself. Watching it was worse than it was described in the books.

"You had my word as a gentleman then," he leaned almost inches from her face. His breath was heavy on her face as he finished. "You still do now."

"Then, then what _are_ you doing?"

"Do you want to know? I didn't tell you in the first place because I knew you'd try to become involved."

She nodded furtively. 

"I've rounded a group of Irregulars. They've been helping me with the Doggs' case. We think we've found a way to cut some of the threads of the web. One, at the least."

"Explain, Holmes."

"They have an account that's been linked to them. I've gotten connections in there and found out ways to cut their account."

"Hacking?" He frowned.

"How did you know?"

"Simple, and easy, but in this case you trip a flag and you're gone."

"Yes, that's one of the ways, but we also have another. Get in the manager's office and delete the count is another. The manager is in his 30s, single, lives alone, like women _a lot_."

"You need someone to put on the moves him, don't you?"

"Yes, and that's why I didn't want to involve you in this."

"Too late, you did. When did I start?"

"Now."

"Can I please speak to the manager?" The tan, cherry redheaded young lady pouted. Her skimpy tight shirt catching the eyes of many a man, she leaned on the desk and made direct eye contact with the young clerk. "It's very, very important."

The man nodded quietly and walked toward the back, followed by an older man of stocky build. This man eyed her and smiled.

"Come on back."

She giggled and slung a cartoon-festooned backpack over her shoulder, following the man to his office. He closed the door with a soft click and slicked back the little hair he had left.

"So, how can I help you?" he said with an attempted debonair smile.

"I need to open an account- oh, you have something on your lapel. Here, let me help you with that." She leaned across the desk to his neck to extract the material.

"Oh, you don't have to do-" He never finished his sentence, he was snoring in the chair.

"Damn, I love pressure points," said the woman as she grinned and extracted a laptop from her bag. She took out a gray, strange looking piece of equipment from her bag as well.

"Hope this works, Marshal." She bit her tongue as she placed it on the wires coming out of the wall with a soft 'click', then took the cable running off the device and plugged it into her computer. She had to smile as she sat cross-legged on the floor. "Cake, and eating it, too."

It was a simple process to get in. The bozo left his password under a picture of some super-model. The bank system also supported a user-friendly system to access accounts. Perfect; it was beautiful. A few strikes of the keys and the account was gone. Not before making a copy of all the information the bank had on it, of course. With a smirk on her face she left the room.

"Did it work?" her friend said as she climbed into the driver's seat of their rented car. He watched her anxiously.

She paused for a moment before turning the key in the ignition. "You worry too much."


	8. The Marriage and the Mobs

                I am sooooooooo sorry I haven't updated in such a long time.  I've got no excuse, other than the fact that my best friend kidnapped me, stuck me in a basement, and wouldn't let me have anything to eat until I started a Harry Potter story.  SHE STUCK A DOUBLE MOCHA WHERE I COULDN'T REACH IT, TOO!!!!!  (sobs) IT WAS HORRIBLE!!!!!!!  

**                Anyway . . . I promise I'll update more often now, save if that horrible traumatic experience happens again.**

**                Here's a little treat . . 100 reviews and I promise a cookie for whoever is 100 or if you want, a character in the story, and after I reach 100 I'll make sure there's a mushy moment if you want.**

                As Olivia pulled away from the bank, she laughed.  Hell, this was almost as fun as when she was in the Bureau.  Though, if she was caught she'd get a harsh warning from the precinct, and Holmes would probably fare worse than her . . he wouldn't probably even have a birth record in the computer.

                "You've got to admit that was fun," she said glancing at him sideways.  "Come on."

                "I just don't like it; I never wanted you to be involv-"

                "Hey, Holmes, _calm down_.  Don't start going all nineteenth century on me.  I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. . myself, and you, that is."

                "What do you mean me?"  The look he gave her was nothing short of indignant.

                "Well, it's not like you have a job or something," she made sure she didn't look over just then.  "So it's safe to say that I'm able to support multiple people and still be fine."

                "How do you know I don't have a job, thought?  You've certainly never asked."

                They had parked in the parking lot by now, and Olivia rolled her eyes as she unlocked the door of the car.  "Fine," she slammed the door shut and gave him an overly sweet look over the roof of the car.  "Holmes, do you have a job?"

                "Why, Watson, I though you'd never ask," he said with an equal amount of overdone surprise, then turned and walked towards the elevator and stairs.  He heard her high heels stop abruptly behind him.  "What?"

                "That."  She pointed at the motorcycle.  On the back was a small sign with streamers and a hand painted sign saying 'Just Married'.  "She got married!"

                "Or Koo did," added Holmes.

                "Couldn't have.  I don't think he realized there's a gender called 'girl' . . . . or, he hasn't came out of the closet yet."

                "I beg your pardon?"  Holmes looked at her curiously.

                "Oh, sorry, keep forgetting the whole 'dead guy for a while' thing.  It's the phrase for someone who has a preference for someone of the same sex."

                "Ah, I see."  He nodded his head slowly.

                "Um, some people think that you were gay, as that sort of thing is called."

                "What?!?"

                "Let's keep moving, please," she said as she started over to the small lobby, she looked over her shoulder at him.  She looked extremely nonchalant on the outside, but the topic was a keen interest.  "So are you?"

                "What?  Gay?"

                "Yeah, I mean, I know for a fact that there were people back then like that."

                "Oh, really?"

                She stopped him from a car pulling out, then waved at a neighbor from down the hall that didn't recognize the assumingly girl-next-door who now was barely dressed in stilettos, fire engine red hair and clothing that was obviously made with spandex.  She turned back to the conversation.  "Yeah, there were couples and stuff, and I know from first hand experience.  One of the women from the party in the bathroom gave me a card for a club or something of the sort she belonged to with her life partner.  I mean, if you are you can just say it, the people across from us upstairs are.  Nice guys, Antonio and Robert.  Make for great _ALIAS _watching partners; we're all waiting for Michael Vartan's shirt to come off."

                "No wonder the dark haired one-"

                "Antonio," corrected Olivia as she pressed the call button for the elevator.

                "Antonio said 'the pleasure was all his', with emphasis on the second word.  I'm not though."  They walked into the elevator and she pressed the button for up.  He gave her a look with layers of meaning she didn't really want to think of just then. "I can assure you, Olivia, that I am not like them, nor am I 'coming out of the closet'."

                She wanted to sigh right then, but didn't.  "Didn't think you were.  Saw you staring at my legs earlier," she grinned at his shocked look that showed in the stainless steel of the walls.  "Come on, admit it."

                "I-I have no idea what you're talking about," he said quickly.

                "Yeah you do.  In the car.  Just admit it and it's over and done with."  She looked over at him.  "Five.  Four.  Three. Two.  On-"

                The door chimed and opened.  Holmes got off and started down the hall towards the apartments.  She noted that he used a hand to steady himself since his footing was off.  She and every other person in New York may have been used to elevators and their fluctuations in gravity, but he wasn't.

                She stepped into the apartment and automatically looked over at the top of the refrigerator.  "She's not home."

                "How do you know?  Other than the fact that you can't smell her perfume or see any scuff marks from her shoes?" he said with sarcasm.

                She pointed at the top of the refrigerator, but not after allowing a slight glare.  "She'd have left the keys on top of the refrigerator after getting the ingredients for her creation, strawberry-banana chocolate soda with chocolate shavings.  Sounds odd, tastes better than anything else."

                "Simple as that, huh?"

                She grinned, then walked over to the television, clicked it on, and collapsed onto the plush dark purple couch.  Holmes had (he didn't know why, exactly) taken a liking to the lime green and dark purple room.  'The only thing we could decide on' Olivia had said, 'I love my purple, she loves her green; there you go'.  He started over to the couch with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor as he did so.  Behind them the city was visible through the window behind the couch.  He was starting to love the city, he thought to himself, with it's lights and sounds and people.  There was always something going on no matter the time or day, and there wasn't the same need to keep as respectable as in his London.  Things like dinners and evening with women before marriage were allowed.  That got him thinking . .  well, thinking more than he was already.

                "Hey, want to watch _The Professional_ with me?" she said, breaking into his mind.  "It's the best movie ever.  There's this hit man, and this little girl, and she loves him and he teaches her to be a hit man and well, it's hard to explain but, it's easier than watching _Witchblade_ because the entire plot is really confusing.  I tried explaining it to my Mum over the phone.  Ack, big mistake. 'See, that's Jake, he's dead, Mum.'  'Then why is he alive?'  'Because he is.'  'But you said he was dead, Olivia.'  'He is, or he was, and now he isn't but he still is in a way because of space time continuum . . .'  'So he's dead.' 'Noooo, he's alive and-' 'But you said-'  'Forget it, Mum'.  Bloody nightmare, it is.  Krys and I have bet's going that they've written a few of the episodes under the influence.  I mean, some of the double meanings.  Damn, it's a great show."

                He smiled as she gave him a helpless look after she rambled for a while.  Actually, he didn't give a hang what she was saying.  He just wanted to hear her talk.  He'd have to tell her someday, about what he wanted to say, but, there never was a good time. 

                "So, which one do you want to watch?" she said, holding up a magazine picture of a dark haired woman with a sword attached to her arm, the wind blowing in her hair and a DVD box with the picture of a bearded man wearing sun glasses and a hat on, saying the words _Leon_.

                "I suppose the first."

                She walked over to the television and placed it in the player, then sat back on the couch, throwing her weight in so she sank in.  "Mind you, I got it in French so Koo and Krys couldn't watch it, and it's Version Intergrale, but-"

                "I hate to interrupt but it sounds as if you really like this movie."

                "Love everything about it. It's like action thriller suspense on the outside that's actually a romance underneath.  The girl's eleven and he's in his late thirties, so they really can't be in love but through the entire film there's this intensity and-Well, I'll spoil it if I say more, so I'll shut up."

                "No, don't."  She looked over at him, and he was glad the lights were off so that his slight blush didn't show.  "Don't ever . . . shut up, Olivia."

                There was a comfortable silence between the two as the movie started, and they both didn't say anything for a while.

                "Say hello to Mister and Misses Young!" came Krys' voice from the door.  She was wearing a white short dress and in her hand was a veil, which she was waving around crazily.  Koo entered behind her and was wearing his regular black jeans but this time he wore a t-shirt that was printed to look like the front of a tuxedo.  The lawyer she met in England was after him.  Olivia's jaw dropped to the floor.

                "You're kidding me."  Krys shook her head.

                "Nope, here's the ring, here's his ring, and here's the documents proving we're married!"  She was now hugging Young very tightly and kissing him every three seconds.

                "Well, congratulations, you two," Holmes said to them, with a slightly bewildered expression.  "I guess."

                "And you won't have to worry about another roomie, Liv.  He and I already have a place upstairs!"

                "How long have you two been planning this?"  Olivia asked as she sat back down.

                "Um, since we first met.  He said that he was going to marry me and we started to plan it."  She grinned.  "See, zipped my mouth shut about the entire thing."

                "I know this sounds spur of the moment, but I just love her," Young took her hand and squeezed it. "You two will understand someday."

                _Not going to even read into the one,_ Olivia thought.   "I don't know if I ever will to the extent that you two do.  I mean, this is a HUGE commitment."

                "Don't rain on our parade."  Krys stuck out her tongue.  "We're going to have a party in a couple weeks one of the hotels.  I hope you two are coming."

                "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

                Koo plopped down on the couch and hit the play button. "Cool, _The Professional_.  God damnit, it's French."  He paused it again and got up.  'Are we going soon?  My computer's packed and I want to see if my friend sent me the crack code generator for one of my games."

                "Well, it's getting late anyway, and we all should get to bed."  She took Young's hand, who helped her up.  "Plus it's past Koo's bedtime."

                "Don't make me sing it, Krys," Koo said in a singsong voice as they started towards the door, Olivia gave her best friend hug and kissed both her cheeks.  "Adios, amiga."

                Krys gave her another hug.  "I'm only upstairs, remember that."  Olivia nodded. "Come on, slime ball I call my little brother."  The three started down the hallway.

                "That's it!" said Koo.  "You asked for it!"  They got into the elevator and Young hit a button.  "Erik and Krys sitting in a truck," he started to sing to the tune of the 'K-I-S-S-I-N-G' song.  "Give them beer and watch them-" The door slammed shut on the elevator, and Olivia burst out laughing.

                "I should've never taught him that song."

                "You taught him that?"

                "Well, um, it was late, we were drunk . . . Krys was making out with some guy I had never seen in my life and, well."  She crossed her arms.  "Sorry, I'm not perfect."

                "Could have fooled me."

                "Whatever, come on back in, we'll finish up the movie."

                Olivia scuffed out of her room the next morning, bed head as it had never been seen before.  The phone had started ringing and she realized that Koo had stolen the cordless from her room the day before and had never given it back.

                "'Lo?" she said in a sleepy voice.

                "Olivia, how are you?"

                "Fine, Marshal, how are you?"

                "Quite fine, and how's Holmes?"

                "Um, fine," she slowly.  "Why?  How'd you know about him, anyway?

                "Ang, but she thinks you're bunking with him, if you know what I mean."

                "Note to self, kill Angie next time I see her.  How bad is the news coverage?"

                "Go turn to Fox."

                She padded into the living room as Holmes walked in.  He was fully dressed but his hair was messed up.  "Hey, Holmes."

                "Dude, he's there?" said Marshal.

                "Yeah, why, you want to talk to him?"

                "HELL YEAH!"  Olivia nearly dropped the phone.  

                "Holmes, it's Marshal from HQ."  She handed him the phone as she turned the television.  "He wants to speak to you."

                Holmes started talking awkwardly with the slightly nerdish guy from her work.  "Well, no I don't remember how it felt to be revived.  I don't know if it was painful."  He walked into the other room as she flipped to the channel.

                "Holy shit!  This can NOT be outside our house."  She ran to the window and looked out it. Sure enough, it was the exact scene as on the television.  "Great, I speak too soon.  Holmes, say 'bye-bye, Marshal'."

                "Slightly hard, Watson . . .  He won't shut up," he said as he put his hand over the mouthpiece.  

Olivia went over to her purse and got out her cell phone.  "I'm calling my Mum, we can stay at her house in Jersey for a while," she said to Holmes as she dialed the number.  "Mum?  Yeah, it's me.  Listen, we have a slight- Oh, you're watching this on the TV?  Yeah, thank you so much Mum, see you in a couple hours.  Love you, bye."  

She hung up the phone, and watched as Holmes tried to get off the phone with Marshal, then tossed her the phone so she could hang it up.  "Mum, said it's fine for a few days if we stay there.  She was going to call us in a few minutes to offer anyway.  It's a bit of a ride to the beach where she lives but it'll give a change to see the suburbia."

                "Alright then, should I go pack?"

                "Yeah, I've got to see which way we should get out of here.  Have a few escape patterns planned out incase of anything bad, like a bad date or something."  She started over to the back window of the second apartments, looking out; she could see that the alley was empty.  Perfect.  They could go down the hallway to the service elevators to the boiler room, the take the stairs to the garage and be out quick.

                "Ready, yet, Watson?" Holmes called as she came out of her room, jacket in hand and a duffel bag.  

                "Yeah."  She walked towards the front door and swung it open, then had to stand in shock.  At least thirty news reporters were standing in the cramped hallway, and they now were snapping away.  She slammed the door shut and stood against it, eyes wide.  Holmes looked at her nervously.

                "What do we do now?"

                She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then grinned.  "I hope you're in shape, Sherlock Holmes."

                They climbed out to the fire escape, and she started up the ladder.  "Matilda and I worked for the FBI under the same boss, to put it simply.  She'd take a bullet for me.  I don't think she'll find us barging in."   She paused while she was climbing.  "Well, I just hope Leon isn't home."

                "Why?" said Holmes as he started up.

                "Because they don't get to see each other that much and well, last time a cat accidentally found it's way in there while they were sort of 'busy', it was shot."

                He paled. 

                "Well, let's hope he's not home."  The window was open, luckily, and they crawled in.  The place was sparsely decorated, but every type of weapon imaginable was lying around.

                Holmes went to pick one up and she slapped his hand.  "He's a gun enthusiast and an ex-hit man, I wouldn't touch those if I were you."

                "But wouldn't they know since she works for the FBI?"  She shrugged as they started toward the front door. 

                "I don't know.  Works for the government or something.  He has a cousin named Victor I think who works in some sort of international thing.  Matilda?"

                A dark haired, dark eyed woman in her late twenties came out of the bathroom brushing her teeth.  Her arm was behind her and in what seemed her back pocket.  She stared at Olivia.

                "Listen, slight problem, and uh, you see, Hol-"

                Matilda pulled out a small gun and clicked the safety off, Olivia turned and saw that it was Holmes, who was raising his hands over his head.

                "Um, Matilda, he's with me.  Listen, can we just use the front door?"

                She nodded, and continued to brush her teeth.  Holmes followed Olivia out. 

                She smiled at him as they waited for the elevator.  "See, what did I say?  Isn't she nice?"

                "She nearly shot me square between the eyes!"

                "Well, I mean, she's never really had family other than Leon, and you see, it just wore off on her.  Give the girl a break."  She stepped on; hit another button and the back door for the employees opened.  She walked through and hit the button for the other elevator.  "Come on, this will take us to the garage without any chance of them hitting the button or something and then seeing us because I really don't feel like crawling out of the elevator shaft today."

                It came a few moments later and they were soon down in the garage.  Throwing their stuff in the back, she told him to duck as they left.  "God, all this over me, and it's not even really me."

                "No, I think it's the movie buffs. Like Harry Potter, those who don't read wait for the movie."

                "Well rain on my parade, why don't you."  Holmes stuck his nose in the air and put on a hurt expression

                "It'd be my pleasure, Mr. Holmes," Olivia grinned and turned on the car.  Soon they were on the highway and on their way.


	9. Secrets and Sunshine

Yes y'all I'm back from quite the hiatus.  Sorry I don't have any souvenirs (unless you consider a psychiatrist on speed-dial a great gift for all ages) but I do have this nifty chapter.  And a renewed ambition.  Hoppy Bunny Day, y'all (or Happy Passover!)  I'll be updating as much as I can, but I've recently started an original fictional drama which I'm gonna get serious about (yeah, I highly doubt it getting published…ever…I'm not exactly a Dickinson or King or Doyle..I'm me..which sucks.  A lot.  Try 24/7……)  Luv and kisses, hope ya got a bigger choco bunny than me.. (save Easter and that's all I get.. a pathetic bunny whose ass could get kicked by a Peep bunny).

                Perusing an antique store, of course was not something that Olivia had on the top of her list.  Especially when she had Sherlock Holmes sitting inside her mother's house, engrossed in the Discovery Channel.  She looked over a shelf of items with only a slight bit of interest.

                "So," her mother said, as if that explained everything.

                "So, so what?"

                Her mother picked up a glass vase and held it up to the light.  "How is Krysten?"  She flicked a strand of black hair behind her, the sun reflecting off the grays that her mother did nothing about.  Olivia envied her mother for her ability to except the fine lines only starting to show.

                "Well," she said, playing with a tray.  "She's married, for starters-."

                "Hmm, and Koo."

                Olivia sighed, leaning gingerly against the side of the barn-turned-antique store.  "Fine, becoming sterile little by little from sitting in front of the computer so much."

                "Well, that's nice, dear," her mother said while lazily putting down the vase.  She had the type of personality that would fit in perfectly if she was summering in the Hampton.  At the same time, however, she had a sort of strict, disciplined personality that sported a glare that could melt steel.  It was now, while she was leaning on a table overflowing with things so old they were unrecognizable, that she used it on Olivia.  "You're worried about Holmes."

                "What do you think, Mum?"  She walked over to the other side of the table and picked up a piece of rope that her mother picked up to inspect.  "Service Pull."  Her mother rolled her eyes and put ot back on the table.  "I just don't feel I should leave him alone too much.  We were almost inseparable before the whole 'Got-Shot-Ended-Up-Here-and-Decided-to-Re-animate-You' bit.  Now things are," she clenched her teeth and swallowed, refusing to allow her mother to see tears, "strained, to say the least.  He doesn't say, I don't say it, he doesn't do, I don't do it, but it's there."

                "Careful how you phrase things, dear."  Her mother glided towards the door, her daughter, taller than her, followed like an obedient child, talking in a sing-song sort of voice.

                "And why should I?" Olivia linked arms with her mother.  

                "You sound like you love him."  Her bewildered daughter stopped dead in her tracks, watching her mother walk on a little.

                Olivia stared ahead, determined.  "I don't know what your talking about."  She'd never noticed how hard it was to control one's voice, especially when one was talking to their mother.

                "If you say so," her mother chuckled.

                Shaking her head, she started up the car.  "You know, Mum, I really think you should go to the doctors, that brain in that noggin of yours requires a bit of checking up on, honestly."

                Taking the car out of park, she was about to put it into reverse when she realized she had left her purse inside.  Without even an explanation to her mother, she bolted out of the car and into the store.

                "Um, did anyone find a purse in the store?" she asked out of breath, the middle-aged woman at the counter shaking her head in response.  With a sigh, Olivia turned to search the store.

                "Excuse me, Miss," said a voice from above her.  She turned her gaze from a clump of dust underneath a table to the man's shoe to her left.   She stood up and dusted herself off.  The man was on the taller side, hazel eyes.  Attractive in a rugged, but defined sort of way.  His mouth split into a smile as he held up her purse.  "I think you're looking for this."

                Originally from Ireland, but had moved to England, from there to America only a short time ago, she decided, almost automatically.  Eww, smoker.

                "Yeah thanks."  Taking the purse, she started towards the door.  She heard him clear his throat, so she slowed.  "Listen," his hand went out to her forearm, and he lowered his voice.  "The guy I just was here with is a little shady.  If you're missing anything," he handed her a small business card, "you may want to call me."

                She sighed.  Pathetic line, but this was her purse, her lifeline.  "Here's my number."  She handed him her card.  "Olivia Watson."

                "Hey, Holmes, we're back!  _Please_ do not tell me you're still watching that thing on royalty or whatever it wa-"

                "No," he said indignantly, then looked down at the empty popcorn bowl next to him for comfort.  "It went off an hour ago."

                Olivia leaned over the couch and grabbed the bowl.  "You're a silly one, Holmes."

                "And you're a popular one, Watson," underneath the quip was a bit of resentment.  Olivia swooped down onto it.

                "You talkin' ta me?"

                "There's only one other person with the surname, and I'm not addressing the lovely Ms. Watson who just retired to her room."

                Olivia jumped over the back of the couch, replenished popcorn bowl in hand.  "Wooh, none spilled. So, what do you mean?"

                "Well, I heard the phone replaying the message from a man from an antique store.  Said your planner was-"

                "Yeah, I was waiting for the call."

                Holmes stood up, crossing his arms "He said to meet you at the Pub on Main."

                Her shoulders sank, eyes heading towards the ceiling.  "This is going to be a date?  Crap, I need this like a hole in my head."  She stood up and walked over to Holmes, who now was trying to figure out the ice dispenser.  "Do you think you could come with me?"

                Ice cubes sprayed across the floor.  "Why?"

                "Because I don't really like this guy…please?  Act like you're my brother or something."

                "Fine," he let out an exasperated sigh.  

                "Olivia!"

                "Coming!" Olivia padded across the room.  "What's the matter?"

                "I don't know what to we-"

                Olivia looked past him at an explosion of clothing, then back at him.  He cleared his throat. 

                "Could you assist me in selecting clothing for tonight's endeavor?"

                She raised an eyebrow and slowly said 'Yes'.  "Wear this," she threw some clothing at him.

                "Why?"

                "It looks nice on you."

                "You've never seen it on me."

                "Just shut up and throw this stuff on, kay?"

                "So," Olivia said slowly, tapping her fingers on the table, thanking the Lord and Powers That Be for having the bar to stuffed.  The smoky, dim bar atmosphere gave her many distractions.  She glanced over at her 'date', and then back at Holmes.  

                "You know, I didn't quite catch a name."  Holmes looked over at the man over steepled fingers.  

                "I didn't give one.  Jason McKinney"

                "Well, everyone can tell at this table your Irish.  Went to England when you were about 12? Correct?" Olivia asked while playing with the wrapper from her straw.

                Holmes didn't even react, but Jason did.  "Yeah, I did."

                She glanced back down.  "You can smoke, ya know."

                Jason looked up, startled.  "What?"

                "Your twitching and you keep putting your hand in your inside pocket.  If you need to smoke just do, you're driving me crazy."

                Holmes raised his glass to his mouth and took a sip, hiding a smirk.

                She turned and poked him.  "Oh, shut up, bud.  You've had days where you've needed one."  She meant his opium days, and her angered, cryptic gaze hinted at that.

                Holmes raised his hands in protest.  "Now, if I recall, I quit at your request."

                "That-that's beside the point.  The house stunk."

                "Well, here's your planner," he leaned forward and handed it to Olivia.  "Do you think we can do this again ..without your…" he looked over at Holmes, who's analytical glare was presently hovering on him. 

                "Friend.  My friend," she laughed, leaning back.  "I feel like I've known him for what seems centuries."

                Holmes' poker face twitched a little, a sign of amusement.

                "Well, I have to go."  Jason stood up and grabbed his jacket.  "I'll call you, Olivia."  Turning he opened him mouth to address Holmes, and then stopped.  "Nice meeting you.."

                "John."

                "Um, right, John."

                "Why do you keep staring at me like that?"

                "'Cause I am.  Thank you."  She paused to nurse her drink.  "I know it was torture for you."

                "_Pour quoi_?"

                "Because I know you're very protective of me," she smiled.  "Like a brother."

                He smiled, distractedly.

                They walked along the boardwalk, each wrapped in their own thoughts for a while.  Holmes would ask a question and Olivia would answer, not really paying attention.  Something just felt wrong, at the pit of her stomach.  It wasn't quite clear who or what, but it was there.

                It took a moment for her to realize Holmes had been looking to his right side for a while, and she turned to look at whatever he was looking at.

                "What are you doing?" she asked.

                "I'm averting my gaze."  
                She turned and looked to their left.  "Oh, it's just some kids on the beach, Holmes."

                "Naked."

                "Noo, wearing bathing suits."

                "Excuse me, close to nothing… now what is _your_ problem?"

                She looked at her watch.  It was still early, but… "I think we need to go home."

                "Why?"

                She grabbed his hand, and started bounding towards the car.  "I just need to, please, we need to hurry."

                Olivia fumbled for the right keys, finding the door locked and her mother's car in garage and no answer, she started to panic even more.

                "She's probably asleep."

                "No, not Mum, she has ears of…God, I don't really know what."  The door finally opened and Olivia ran in.

                "Mum!" she ran into the parlor, and saw no sign; she glanced in the kitchen and then flew up the stairs, checking every room.  Nothing was out of place.  She finally got to her room, which was on the front of the house.  Her window, which she kept habitually shut tight and knew she had before she left, was wide open.  

                "Shit," Holmes said under his breath as he saw it, knowing her strange obsession with the windows when they lived on Baker Street.

                "Mum?"  She ran back through all the rooms.  "Holmes I can't find her."

                "So maybe she's out."

                "Holmes, my mother's car is in the fucking garage!"  She ran down the stairs and slid into the kitchen, falling to the floor as she grabbed the cordless to try her mother's cell phone.

                She never got to dial it, however, because she noticed the smell of something coppery in the air…and then she spotted the hand…and the rest of the body…

                "Sh-Sher-" she croaked, crawling into the corner, the phone forgotten as the image of her mother's crumpled body blank eyes staring up into space in a pool of blood was burned into her mind.

                "Oh my God."  Holmes scooped up Olivia in one large swoop, grabbing the phone and dialing 911. 

                Olivia didn't remember much after that, just being taken outside and waiting in the car until the police and ambulance arrived…sirens…lights. 

                "Olivia?"  

                She turned, Holmes shook her.

                "Is she-" she couldn't say it.  Even saying the word would condemn her mother's fate.

                "I'm so sorry," his voice broke and all he could do was hold her.  Olivia buried herself against his blazer and wept.

                "I'm taking you home," he said finally, regaining control of his voice.

                "I can't.  I have to stay wi-" her shoulders sank and she knew that trying to fight with him was useless.  

                "Come on.  Let them handle it."

                Nodding, she started to walk towards the car, but then realized the numbness she felt had spread to her legs.  Olivia started to plummet and Holmes caught her for a second time, holding her with both his arms, he asked a police officer to drive them home.  

                Olivia really didn't know about much else that night, she couldn't feel a thing, save for the cold hard feeling she'd later recognize as a need for revenge.

                Olivia woke the next morning, wrapped in a blanket on the couch with Holmes cradling her.  Logic kicked in before memory and she realized they must have fallen asleep watching a movie.  Then, looking down at the clear glass of the coffee table, she saw the haunted tired look on her face, punctuated by her mascara, smeared and runny, and it hit her.

            The sobs came before she could stop herself, causing Holmes to wake up. 

                "She's dead."  It came out strangely, monotone and lifeless.

                He shifted, sat up, and put an arm around her shoulder.  "Yes."

                She didn't respond, but went over to the yellow book.  "Gotta take care of things."

                "Olivia, please."

                "No, I-I have to do this.  Did the police call yet?"

                As if answering her question, the phone rang.  She stared at it for a second, and then went to answer it, but Holmes grabbed her hand.  "Don't.  I'll answer."

                She continued to stare at the phone.

                "Please."

                Her arm recoiled, and his slowly reached out to pick up the phone.  Still holding her hand, he sat down on the couch.  Olivia sat numbly on the couch as she listened to the one side of the conversation.  This was the side of Sherlock that she barely seen.  This was a kinder, caring Sherlock..   This was the Sherlock she loved.

                He put down the phone tiredly and patted the seat next to him.  Sliding over, Olivia rested her head against his shoulder.  

                "It seems your mother has everything taken care of.  They already notified all the proper businesses and we won't have to worry about a thing."

                _We, huh._  "You don't have to do that."

                "But I am." 

                She tugged the coat closer around her frame, shivering from the gray, somber weather that fit the days mood.

                Holmes never left her side the entire length of the funeral.  As dozens of people milled past, Sherlock kept her standing.  The only time he had to let go of her hand was when she went for the eulogy.  

                Standing in front of all the people, she suddenly realized there was a flag draped across the casket, and that the back row was made up of men and women dressed in government-like attire.  They were all a large spectrum of ages, but they all looked like they were on the verge of tears.

                Finishing, she stepped back down and stood with Holmes.  People milled by and shook their hands, but the entire time, a handful of the back row people still kept watching them.

                "Olivia!" Olivia turned and watched as Krysten bounded towards her, eyes full of tears and a Koo behind.  She pecked Olivia on both her cheeks and gave Holmes a quick hug before he could protest.  "Oh, God, Honey, I tried to get down here as quickly as I could!"

                "Thank you," Olivia whispered, and then let out a little laugh.  "Did she drag you along, Koo?"

                Koo didn't say anything, but ran forward and gave Olivia a hug.

                "I'm so sorry, Liv!  Whe-when I hear, I just…"

                "It's okay, bud."

                Krysten bit her lip.  "Do they have any leads?"

                "I don't know yet, I haven't been able to talk with them.  I've been finishing everything for the-" her voice cracked and she bit her lip.  Sherlock put a protective arm around her shoulder.  Taking a deep breathe, she went on.  "I'm gonna get the bastard, I swear."

                "Count me in.  I loved your mother, she was so full of life.  Anyone who does that deserves to die."

                "Ms. Watson?"

                She looked up at the man now standing in front of her.  She recognized him as one of back row people.

                "Yes?"

                "May I speak to you alone?"

                She nodded silently and walked over to a large bush.  "Yes?"

                "I'm Agent Sprawling.  I worked with your mother."

                "Excuse me?  My mother was an art restorer."

                The man took off his sunglasses, revealing a man in his forties, who probably was a football player when he was in school.  He gave her a worried look.  "You mean she never told you?"

                "No…you're not telling me my mother worked for the government, are you?"

                "So it seems.  Ms. Watson, your mother worked for the Central Intelligence Agency.  We all-" he gestured towards the others, "-work for the CIA."

                Olivia leaned against the tree for support.  "This is news for me.  Is there something I can help you with?"

                "Actually yes." He raised his eyebrow.  "You see, we set up support systems for our de-activated agents in our section and your mother knew the entire list.  Did you ever give anyone that address?"

                "No, Mum was always particular about it-now I know why-so I always gave my apartment address."  Then it hit her.  "Oh my God, the planner, I left it for three seconds and when I got my purse back…Shit, her address was in my planner."

                He paled.  "Did somebody take your purse?"

                She closed her eyes, going over the day in her head.  "Actually, I think it was taken.  They must've moved it from me and took the planner.  I can't believe I didn't rea-"

                "Did you catch a name?"

                "Yes.  The man's name was Jason McKinney."

                "Holy shit.  Ms. Watson, I believe the man who took your planner was the Doggs' leader's right hand man.  We haven't leaked out any information on any of them yet really, so you wouldn't know."

                "So that's why Mum didn't want me to transfer.  I'd figure it out."

                "I forgot, you're a Feeb."

                "You know, we really hate being called that.  And Suits. And, well, we just don't like being called anything.  We're more like fly-on-wall people."

                He chuckled softly.  "No where as much as us."  He suddenly became serious,  "Listen, if you ever need anything, just contact me."  He pressed a business card into her hand, and squeezed her other hand.  "I'm so sorry."

                She smiled slightly.  "We all are."

                "What was that all about?" Holmes asked as they walked through the cemetery.  

                "Just an old colleague of my mother's," she sighed.  "You know, you can just tell me to sod off and suck it up at any time."

                "Why, you deserve to mourn, Olivia, and I promise to be a shoulder to cry on."    

                "You're to good to be true, Holmes."  She sighed, and he stopped, holding her hand.

                "Olivia, I must tell you something."

                "You're cells are deteriorating and you've become a woman?"

                "What! No!  Be serious, Olivia."

                "Why?  My mother just died, Holmes, it's how I cope.  I laugh things off."

                "But what I'm about to say isn't a laughing matter," he said in a clipped voice.

                "What could you tell me that's more serious than what's just happened?  What, Sherlock, tell me that!" she turned on her heel.                

                "Maybe-maybe the fact that I love you is a little more serious."

                Olivia stopped, and turned, finding Sherlock behind her.  Her lip trembled, and her gaze was cast downward.  "I'd saw maybe you're right."

                "And?"

                "And maybe," she looked up, the tears she had been crying silently stopping, "maybe the fact that I love you helps that a bit."  

                Before she could say anything else, his lips were on hers.  And in that moment, she knew that they would never be another person who could make her feel that way. That this was what finding that special person felt like.

                Her eyes fluttered open and looked up at him.  He was breathless, and smiling.  "I do believe it helps just a tad." He glanced over at the new Headstone that had the Watson surname on it.  "You don't think she'll come back and haunt me for what I did?"

                "Nah," he put a protective arm on her waist and they continued to walk.  As if as an answer, the clouds parted a little bit of sunshine shone through.  "I think she's smiling down on us."


	10. A Reunion with a Violin

**_Kay ya'll I'm posting this chap also cuz I don't think I'll be getting much time until, like two months from now, if I play my cards right.  I just tried out for my High School's award-winning marching band (ummm flags and stuff, I can play a piano…which is the extent of my musical playing abilities [ask my elementary school music teacher…I sucked at the freakin recorder!]and I'm not gonna get a call back until the 28th.. and then it'll be a month of strenuous practice to figure out what SQUAD I'm on… and then exactly half of my summer (I counted grumble) will be sent sweating, bleeding, and crying while practicing…this is gonna be sooo hard…oh shit, and my AP French.. and Bio…uhmmm…oookay, I'm telling you now, I'm gonna try REALLY hard to update….._**

            Sherlock laced his fingers through Olivia's, she smiled up at him.

            "Yeah, it is beautiful out."

            "Actually, I was thinking about how lucky I am to be in love with you, love."

            It had been three weeks since her mother's murder, as well as three weeks since the mutual acknowledgement of affection.  As blissful as she felt, she had to admit that there was a part of her that kept growing every day, a part of her that said that things needed to be done.

            Sherlock seemed content as they walked through Central Park, the spring renewing the park's atmosphere.  Their relationship had gone at its own pace, each seeming to know where boundaries and lines where.  Not only that, they both seemed to know what each other was thinking; words where unnecessary.  

            "It's fate, Liv.  Not only that, it's creepy," Krysten had said the day before, stopping in for early coffee with Olivia.  She looked at Krysten incredulously.

            "What's creepy?"

            Holmes padded out of his room, still groggy from sleep.  His sleeping habits had changed so that he could meet Olivia at the kitchen, and today was no exception.

            "Left," she said simply, and Sherlock opened the cabinet on the left side of the refrigerator and grabbed the box of pop tarts, a treat he had grown to love.  He grinned and pecked her on the cheek.

            Krysten was openly amazed.  "That's what's weird, hon."

            "Sherlock?"

            "Yes, love?"

            "We need to sit down and discuss so-"

            Holmes led Olivia to a bench and nodded.  "You're thinking about going back to work?"

            "Well," she leaned her head against his shoulder, and he looped his arm around her.  "Not exactly.  I've already _gone_ back to work, but I'm thinking of going back to my fellow Feebs."

            "So?"

            She turned around, and faced him.  "So, it may require going to D.C., for a little while everyday."

            He looked down and Olivia saw his jaw set itself.  "I see."

            "Oh, Sherlock, stop.  You know I love you, it's just-"

            "You want revenge.  I can see it.  I can feel it.  Olivia, don't let that consume you."

            She threw her hands up.  "I can't help it, and if I have to become Batman or something, so be it."

            "Batman?"

            "Yes, Batman," she grinned and leaned back.  "I'm thinking of a stop at the video store, love."

            Video in hand, Sherlock and Olivia made their way to the apartment, stopping only for the occasional kiss.  The rush of being with Sherlock was amazing, creating butterflies in her stomach like nothing before.

            It had been at least three minutes outside the apartment before Olivia was able to finally turn and open the door, both falling through the doorway.  Falling on the couch, Olivia, giggling, Holmes sat up. 

            "You know, we'd probably be arrested for being so obscene in public if we were back on Baker's Street."

            "Nah, we'd wheedle our way out of it.  You _must_ have something on Lestrade."

            "Very true, Liv-my-luv."

            She grinned, "Okay, who's up for movie and kissing?"

            He raised his hand.

            The movie had probably ended a while ago, but Sherlock and Olivia were to busy to realize it.  Sherlock breathed and sat up, looking at the clock.  

            "Don't you have work tomorrow?"

            "Yes, so?"

            "As much as I'm enjoying our" he cleared his throat, "time together, I believe that you should be getting to bed, as should I, I've got some errands to do."

            She sighed, and got up.  "Fine, spoil our fun, you party pooper."  She paused to give him on last kiss. "I'll see you bright and early in the morning."

            Holmes rolled over, unable to sleep, and looked in his doorway to see Olivia standing there.

            "Something wrong, pet?"  She nodded, and he climbed out of bed to stand next to her. She laced her fingers behind his head, giving him a firm, needy kiss. 

            The look in her eyes spoke volumes before she opened her mouth.  

            "I don't want to be alone tonight."

            With one last kiss, he scooped her up and placed her on his bed. 

            And that was the last thing said that night.

            Olivia opened her eyes sleepily, and then smiled recalling what had gone on last night.  She rolled over to see Sherlock watching her.

            "Good morning," she whispered, giving him a kiss.  "How long have you been up?"

            He smiled.  "Not really long at all.  Fifteen minutes at the most."

            She sat up and stretched, clutching the sheets around her chest with one hand and extending the other.  He placed a kiss on her neck.

            "How are you feeling?" he asked as she turned around, hands behind his head, maneuvering herself to sit on his lap.  The motion caused him to blush profusely.

            "Like a million bucks…and you?"

            He smiled, and dipped in for a kiss.  "Never better. Words cannot explain how I feel.  What do you want for breakfast?"

            She groaned, laying her head on his chest.  "You just _had_ to remind me about work, didn't you?"

            "Sorry love."

            He got out of bed and Olivia grabbed his shirt from the day before, buttoning it up quickly and padding out of his bedroom to the kitchen, Sherlock behind her.

            "Oh-my-God!"

            Olivia's eyes met Krysten, and her husband in the kitchen.

            "I cannot believe what I'm seeing!" he said between bites of bacon.

            Sherlock took Olivia's hand and squeezed it as they walked into the kitchen, going about their routine like the two weren't there."

            "About time, you two," Krys said, pausing to take a sip of coffee, "seriously, it was getting to be rather nagging, you two always looking at each other like that."

            "Oh sod off, Krysten!" Sherlock called over his shoulder as he went back to his room to get more suitable.

            "Ah, I think it did him good, dear, seems already to have loosened up," Erik commented, and Olivia flicked juice at him.

            "Listen, I was nothing but sweet when you two eloped and-"

            Erik cleared his throat and Krysten looked down at her plate.

            "What's the matter?"

            "Well, you see," Erik started.  "The minister in Las Vegas wasn't actually _allowed _to marry people-"

            "And alcohol really impairs you judgment of others-" Krysten said slowly, receiving a look from Erik.

            "Oh come on, you _were_ attracted to me…weren't you?"

            Krysten fiddled with a piece of egg on her plate.  "Like I said, alcohol _really_ impairs your judgment."

            Erik's shoulders slumped.  "So, we're just friends."

            "Ah, alright."  Olivia stood up and excused herself.  Coming back a few minutes later, she grabbed her helmet out of the closet.  "Sherlock, I'm leaving for work."

            He came out, tucking his shirt into his pants.  Olivia fixed his collar.  "Do you have to?"

            She kissed him.  "I know, I know, but I have to."

            He smiled, and then held her to him for a moment.  "I love you, remember that."

            She nodded and headed for the door.  "Come on Krys!"

            "Oh, can we take my car?"

            "No.  You can take the car, I'm taking my baby.  I'll meet you there."

            "Fine."

            "Sooo, what do we have on the menu?" Krys rubbed her palms together, anxious to get back to work.

            "Well," said Olivia, "we've got a corpse-"

            "Say no more.  I'm getting ma' gloves on!" she jogged off to her desk, Olivia following.  Krys was one of those girls you'd never think was morbid.. but she was, in a strange, perky sort of way.  

            Olivia sipped the mocha Marshal had handed her as she walked in, plopping down in her chair to survey the paperwork.  Focusing, she looked down and steeled herself for the 'fun' ahead.

            Instead, she found a typed letter.

Jamila-

_            Sorry about your mother.  Too bad.  You don't have to worry about any more of that. Just remember, though, that I'm always watching you._

"Who the put this on my desk?" Olivia hollered as her heart rate quickened, eyes sweeping the room.  

            No one answered.

            "That's it," Olivia muttered as she threw items in her bag.  She grabbed her cell phone as she went through the morgue, angrily punching in numbers.

            "Hello?" said the voice on the other end.

            "It's Watson, I'll meet you at the cemetery."

            "What for?"

            She started the motorcycle, her jaw set.  "Time for that little favor."

            "Watson, what's the matter?" Agent Sprawling walked with her as she took off her gloves.  

            "I want to get him."

            "Who?"

            "My father."  He looked at her oddly.  "Listen, I know this sounds weird, I know, but I received this." She handed him the paper.

            "'Jamila'?"

            "It's _one_ of my many middle names.  It means 'princess' in Egyptian, and my father called me that.  Even though my father didn't like that I was named like that…he liked it's meaning."

            He scanned it over.  "Is there anyone else who could've written this?"

            She shook her head, and then shrugged.  "I really don't think so."

            He wiped his face and messaged the peak of his nose.  "Ms. Watson, this isn't really evidence that your father is alive-"

            She crossed her arms.  "There's surveillance."

            "You know about that stuff?"

            She shrugged, leaning against a tree and staring out across the field, dotted by gray stones.  "Yeah, have my connections."

            "So you know we've recently received confirmed accounts that he's alive?"

            She straightened up.  "No."

            "Well, there you have it.  But what does this have to do with the favor?"

            She took a breath.  "Train me.  Let me get this guy."

            His eyes widened and turned, staring off. "There's no way in _hell_ I could allow that.  You don't have-"

            "I already filled out the papers.  I have all the credentials, please!" she grabbed his arm.  "If you give me permission, I will take them down, all of them… If you don't, I _will_ do it on my own."

            He turned, his face aloof.  "I'll discuss it with the recruiters…in the mean time, start getting yourself back in shape."

            "Hey!"

            "You panted as you ran after just before…don't try to hide it."

            "I had on my back-pack!  It weighs a ton! What do you expect?!?"

            "Well, if you actually want in, I expect you to be able to haul your own wait-physically and emotionally. I'll call you in a few days."

            "So why are we jogging?" Sherlock leaned against a bench as she jogged in place.

            Olivia shook her head.  "Because you and I have to get into shape.  We're looking like old farts compared to them."  She gestured to the some people who had passed them.

            "Alright," he panted, now working out a kink in his back.  "As long as we don't end up looking like them."  He pointed at something behind her back.

            Turning, she saw a couple walking towards them.  Both of them looked to be in their eighties, and smokers at one point, the way they were breathing…

            She gulped.  "I assure you, we won't look like that."

            The 'few days' Sprawling said it would take for him to contact her passed quickly.  Work was boring, a love-triangle gone sour.  Their were new purchases being seen around Olivia's and Sherlock's apartment-a punching bag for Olivia's new rigorous (and baffling) daily routine….a dart board for Sherlock to help with the occasional need to fling things at the wall (which had caused the prideful bullet holes of the initials of the Queen back at Bakers Street).  Everything was perfect.

            "This is so screwed up," Olivia muttered to herself as she looked at her bedroom, which was now being used a storage room.  She hated how she had organized things, and the sudden urge to re-arrange things had taken a hold on her.  Thus, she was leaning on the door-jam, biting her nails, and wondering if she could get to an IKEA, Wal-Mart, and a dollar store in time for what would be needed.  

            "What's the matter, hon?" his arms went around her waist and he looked into the room over her shoulder.  

            "Look at it.  It looks horrible!" she leaned her head back and looked at his face.  Instead of the completely agreeing look of disgust, he squinted at the room.

            She growled and started into the room, marching into the heart of the room and started to go through boxes.  Sherlock grabbed her from behind and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her into the living room and letting go over the couch.  

            "I _need_ to clean, please!"

            Sherlock looked at her, raising an eyebrow.  "Are you addicted to cleaning?"  
            She crossed her eyes at him, sticking out her tongue.  "No, I'm a social cleaner.  I clean just enough to keep me from being diagnosed with OCD and to get a buzz.  No, honey, I just felt like it."

            "I tell you why, you're nervous."

            "Why would I be nervous?"

            "I wouldn't know.  You don't tell me things like that."

            Sherlock gave her a deep analytical glare, the kind he'd give someone who he was meeting for the first time.  It made her squirm.

            "Honey, it's nothing really."

            His eyebrow went up and the glare became a look of worry.  "Then what is it?"

            She swallowed and looked down at her hand, she took a deep breath. "I-I decided to become active again."

            He blushed, scratching the back of his head.  "I thought what we've done was considered… 'active'….."

            "Of course it is!" she said quickly, and then shook her head.  "I'm putting myself on active in the F.B.I."  Olivia took his hands, and then kissed his cheek.  "It just means that I'll be spending a little more time at work, and I'll be a little stressed," she smiled giving him a cryptic look, "but I'm hoping that you can help me with that part."

            "And what will you be gaining?" 

            "Well," she sighed, a hand automatically putting itself through her hair without much thought.  "I'm not too sure, exactly, I just need to."

            He smiled.  "I know how that is, love.  With my parents and all."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Left home and my father disowned me."

            She gave him a huge hug.  "Vent.  I'm here."

            "Nope, not going to."

            As she was about to open her mouth, the phone rang, and she jumped up to get it.  "'Lo?"

            "Watson," it was Sprawling.

            "Hello," she leaned against the counter, waiting for him to go on.

            "I just called to let you know that we'd like you to start training here," he continued quickly, his monotone voice not really changing.  "Now, this doesn't mean you're in, it just means you're a candidate."

            "Thank you," she breathed.  

            Olivia woke up at six at looked at the alarm clock on the other side of Sherlock, a nervous feeling in her stomach.  She hadn't told him because she knew he wouldn't take the news too well. And now, with the excuse that she had to get some of her items she had left at the office she worked at, she was going to D.C…to meet with Sprawling and to start a week of examination.

            "Honey," she whispered, sitting up.  "I have to go."

            His hand instantaneously tightened its grip on her waist, and he opened his eyes sleepily.  "Where?"

            She kissed him with a laugh.  "You know, when we were at Baker Street, you never were this out of it."

            He gave her a smile, a small one as he wasn't awake enough to give her a full one.  "You're right.  But then again, I wasn't well…um…fla…we weren't getting rock n' roll."

            She gave him a confused look and then fell forward on his chest laughing.

            "I love you, you crazy, Irish-slang using Tan, you."

            He let out a small laugh and sat up, a hand going through her hair.  "And I love you like crazy." He kissed the top of her head and sighed.  "Do you really have to go get your mother's things and sort all that rot?  I thought that that was all taken care of."

            "Stop whining, firstly.  And secondly I have to.  There's no way around it."  Olivia felt her stomach twist into a knot; she was lying to Sherlock, the only man she had ever really loved.  Giving him a smile, she sat up, "How about breakfast before we start doing something that will make me be _extremely_ late."

            He gave her a lopsided grin.  "Wish I had thought about that before you did…well, I did…but…"

            "Oh, be quite you," she rolled over, "and get out of bed.  We're going to breakfast."

            Today was blood tests, hearing tests, every sort of test imaginable to make sure she would be able to _then_ take more test in the following days.  By the end of everything, she was emotionally drained.  Sprawling met her in the hallway afterwards, and asked if she wanted to go to a bar and get a drink.

            "Nah," she shook her head.  "Although a beer or something sounds really good about now, I have to get home."

            He nodded.  "Tomorrow, right?"

            She hesitated, suddenly thinking of how she was going to be able to lie to Sherlock about tomorrow.

            "Yeah."

            Sherlock was sitting on the couch with a glass of wine waiting for her.  Olivia gave him an appreciative smile and dropped the box of papers she had brought to make it look like she had started to clear her mother's items.  She dropped it onto chair and walked over to him.  

            "I missed you," she said simply before kissing him.  It was true.  And now, enveloped in his taste and smell, his arms holding her, she realized how much she loved him.

            He handed her the glass and kissed her again.  There was a light in his eyes, the sort she recognized from when she first met him.  It was the look of being in his element, either surrounded by a crime scene or by books and music.  He reached behind the couch and took out a violin case.

            "Stradivars, right?"

            He nodded, taking it out and putting it to his chin.  He looked over at her for a moment and then closed his eyes.

            Olivia leaned back, forgetting all that had happened as the sound of the violin and the feel of the velvet couch swept her away.


	11. The Reunion Through Centuries Soundtrack

I know this is OT, but I though, since I listen to this stuff and it helps me get in the mood to write, I should let you guys hear it.  Download and enjoy.  

Soundtrack: Reunion Through Centuries

Sting-Shape of My Heart-(I just love this song.  It's the theme from The Professional and it's absolutely beautiful.  It'll be a bit more apparent in the future why I picked this song.)

Michelle Branch-Are You Happy Now?(I've been listening to her stuff before it really hit main stream like she is now…I kinda like the feeling you get listening to it…Like you could run out of your wedding, picking up your skirt and kicking down the door…uh yeah…)

Coldplay –Spies (Really great song…was in a really down, gray mood when I listened, and I just ended up being even MORE down and gray, but don't let that fool you…it's a really great song lyrically, and, in the future if you hum it while reading bits between Holmes and Watson…it'll set the mood perfectly)

Mandalay – Kissing the Day (really upbeat…even thought the lyrics are pretty sad.  I've loved Mandalay for a while now…and yeah, I hate pop, but they're BRIT pop, and I've never heard anything like 'em… bloody wicked)

Phoebe Snow-Don't Want The Night to End (This song kicks @$$ and I really don't care that Phoebe's version {the original} is well..groovy while it's surrealistic, as I put it.  I have Mandalay singing it as a cover, and on a train ride to and from New York, I played it the entire time and came up with quite a bit of this story and a novel I'm writing..don't get your hopes up, though…)

Fall-Craig David featuring Sting-Rise and Fall ( I have nothing to say but OMG I just listened to it and I love it.  The guitar you hear is from Sting's song Shape of My Heart, which anyone who's seen The Professional will recognize it..hmm, most of these songs are melancholy…hmmmmm Okay, so with further inspection, I realize this has nothing to do with the story, but it's Sting, it's Shape of my Heart..it Stays! :p)

Liz Phair-Batmobile (It's not-really-a-song, per say, but the lyrics explain Holmes, in a way…just uh, don't let Mum hear…mature listeners only)"Dark delicious dreams of you abound"…twisted and beautiful

Liz Phair-Dance of the Seven Veils (another song that will be made clear in the future…I know how that annoys you but…hehehehe.)

If you can think of any other song that describe characters, scenes, the story or relationships, review and say so!  I'll add here!


	12. A YAHOOGROUP!

            Yes, it is I, Rose with Thorns!  (Glares) I AM alive, and I _did_ get off my lazy ass.  So much in fact, that in the middle of writing the next chappy, I created a yahoo group.  Go look, join, make me feel happy, and I'll type faster.

  Go looky. NOW!!!!


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